Return of the Queen
by malachitedreams
Summary: Beaten by Soul Society, Aizen turns his attentions back to his favorite memories, and has Orihime returned to him.
1. Chapter 1

Aizen Sousuke's intentions should have changed that day. He knew that now, after the War had been lost, after he'd been imprisoned by Soul Society's best – and meager – measures.

And after he'd escaped back to Hueco Mundo to regroup.

Thinking about it now, nearly two years after the War, he knew he should have thrown away his plan of decades, the so carefully conceived plan to take down Soul Society and impose himself as god of the Underworld, and any other world he chose.

He hadn't, of course, and he'd lost. Failed.

He stood at the rebuilt portion of Las Noches. It wasn't so much fortress now as palatial complex. For the Arrancar army he'd kept it a military institution. Now, well, now he wanted something a bit different.

He looked to his remaining Espada. Grimmjow had survived mostly intact, Ulquiorra not so much, but he'd been passably repaired. They looked back at him, Ulquiorra out of a remnant of respect, Grimmjow out of necessity.

Aizen's gaze went back out across the crystal sands of Hueco Mundo, letting his mind wander to where it usually did since his devolution from what the Hyogoku had made him. Back to being a shinigami, to what he'd been before Shinji had made him realize there was no room for him in Soul Society.

"Yer too damn smart, don't ya think?" his former captain had told him. "Smart is good, but there's no room in the Gotei Thirteen for independent thinking. Not for yer style, Vice Captain."

Aizen smiled. He'd proved Shinji wrong, proved everyone wrong, fooled them all. It had started as a pastime, a distraction from that loneliness eating a hole through his soul, an ever increasing void that could only be filled by one person.

He leaned his hands on the rail running around the wide wall, taking in the semi dusk that filtered through the region, watching a few stray Arrancar in the distance roam, aimless. Delusions and illusions had made him forget, for a time, that she was no longer at his side, her soul somewhere adrift in the living world until being reborn. She'd forget him, move on in her new life, begin anew as if there had never been _them_.

She was supposed to remember; she'd promised to always remember him, through death, through rebirth, through their time in Soul Society, and then past death again. She hadn't. She'd slipped through Soul Society and drifted back to be reborn in the living world.

And she forgot him.

Aizen straightened and sighed slowly. He'd searched all of Tokyo, instead finding his sister, Masaki, and his nephew, but no princess.

He supposed it was ironic, that she, his lost love, would befriend the very focus of his plans, plans made after he'd given up on finding her. Forgetting her hadn't happened, and by the time he had found her again, he'd become something she couldn't accept.

But that could change, he told himself. He'd make her remember, make her understand.

And make her his again.

He glanced to Ulquiorra, debating testing those fragile strands of communication the Fourth Espada had with Orihime Inoue. His gaze shifted to Grimmjow. Not a better choice, he decided. He looked back to Ulquiorra.

"Bring Orihime Inoue back here," he said.

Ulquiorra's face registered surprise, even for him. "You want her brought back?"

Aizen nodded. "To stay."

Grimmjow looked shocked, and then chuckled.

Aizen spared him a look. "You get a crew to clean up a room for her near my quarters."

Grimmjow couldn't let the order pass. "You're serious?"

Aizen turned back to look out over the darkness growing over the desert. "She's coming back to stay."


	2. Chapter 2

It was to be the last of their dinners together for a while, Orihime knew; before Ichigo began fulltime work and Rukia and Renji went back to Soul Society for an indeterminate time. Even Uryu was going to Tokyo to study design for an upscale pattern-maker with ties to the fashion industry.

She didn't want it to end. Her own life would be days of work at the noodle shop and hoping to find Tatsuki in-between the martial art classes she taught and tournaments. Even Chad would be scarce with his job at the docks on Tokyo Bay.

She perked a smile on her face, ignoring the gently falling snow outside that threatened to layer Karakura Town in white. She sat straighter on her cushion at the kotatsu table, intently _not_ noticing how close Ichigo was sitting to Rukia across from her.

"I wonder what's keeping Uryu?" she mussed aloud, her chopsticks picking at a few grains of rice on her plate.

"He'll be here." Renji was to one side at the table, noting her attention _not_ on Rukia and Ichigo. He took another bean paste bun from the center plate amid the half empty dishes. "He better hurry or there won't be anything left."

She smiled wide. "I have more in the kitchen, Renji. I made enough."

He nodded, glancing askance at Rukia edging to Ichigo, who both saw his attention.

Ichigo cleared his throat, shifting his legs beneath the table. "I've got to run, Orihime. Promised my dad I'd clean out the back room of the clinic before dark tonight."

"Oh, so soon?" she said, looking from him to the window. The sky was turning a darker gray with winter's onset, shortening days.

"Uryu might not come by," he added, gently, making up for the wounded look crossing her face. "You know he's been busy with his internship preparations. I'm sure he wanted to be here."

"Of course he did," Rukia said, nodding.

Renji gave them both a cross look. "I suppose you're leaving, too," he said to her.

Rukia couldn't hide the guilt washing over her small features. "Well... I guess..."

Renji snagged one of the remaining buns from the table. "So go. I'll stay until Uryu gets here." He grinned at Orihime. "We'll make him do dishes for being late."

She smiled, which dimmed slightly as Ichigo and Rukia stood up. "Maybe he forgot."

"'Course not," Ichigo said, looking around for their coats on the couch across the room. Orihime's apartment was small, and very warm at the moment, and she'd set dinner on the kotatsu table minus the blanket. He cast a brief glance back to Orihime still pondering the few sweet buns on the plate. "He's just all worked up over new needles and pins."

A moment later she saw him and Rukia to the door, making the usual pleasant goodbyes she always did. It wasn't until the door closed that she realized their absence left her alone with Renji.

It seemed to strike him suddenly, too.

"Uh, if you'd rather wait alone, I can go, too," he said, rubbing the back of his neck, looking more out of place than usual in the small room. "I figure Uryu will be here shortly, but if it's too ... well, _alone_...I'll go."

She straightened her yellow blouse, feet restless beneath her long turquoise skirt as she shook her head. "No."

He stuck his hands deeper into his pullover front pocket. "You sure?"

She nodded, not quite convincing him.

He figured the slight blush on her cheeks sealed her real answer. It was meant to be a gesture of friendship, but with no one else present, he figured it appeared something different, and from the unease hinting her eyes he assumed something akin to almost _ominous_ might be more accurate. Before he could clarify or further cloud the matter, his Soul Society cell phone rang and he pulled it from his pocket.

Orihime watched him look at the screen for a second, and then flip the phone closed.

"I've got to go," he said, judging her relief. "I'm on standby duty with Rukia and that's my call." He didn't add that Rukia may be too busy to answer her call.

"Oh, okay," she said. "A Hollow?"

He nodded, sending a quick glance to the table. "You'll wait on Uryu still?"

She nodded, smiling more. "Thanks for offering to stay, Renji."

"Yeah, well, a thought anyway, huh?"

He left then, taking with him what seemed like most of the life from Orihime's small apartment. She looked back to the table, one hand running up the sleeve of her opposite arm. Of course shinigamis didn't take life, she thought, even in gigai form.

But she did like it better with other people, or at least beings that were her friends, in the apartment. She didn't try to keep the smile on her face for no one. She'd save it for Uryu when he got there.

She moved to the table and began collecting plates and bowls, pleased that her guests had eaten so much of her specially prepared meal. This time it seemed to be genuinely appreciated. She knew sometimes her guests ate out of politeness. She gathered the plate of sweet bean paste buns, chiding herself for not having Renji take one when he left.

She tucked a strand of auburn hair behind her ear, mind drifting to whether Uryu had forgotten or simply got too busy. She felt turbulence in the spiritual pressure around her, and slowly stood up, looking around the warm room.

All was in order, nothing amiss.

She looked toward the door, thinking of the Hollow Renji had left to battle. Perhaps it was that.

A sudden increase in the pressure around her made her reach for the hairpins clipped beneath the collar of her shirt, senses alert at the powerful change.

She whirled around as a familiar reiatsu surged from the other side of the room. For a moment she could only stare back at Ulquiorra Schiffer, a mixture of astonishment and fear eclipsing her will to respond.

His dark eyes dropped over her, resting on her face, the plates she clutched to herself, the thick socks she wore.

Before he could speak, she gave a small cry of surprise, and then the dishes clattered to the floor.

* * *

><p>Aizen permitted Grimmjow to remain in the throne room as he expected Orihime's return with Ulquiorra. The Sexta Espada, although numbers and ranks had become obsolete in the aftermath of the War, was his typical stony self, but this time Aizen detected a bit of amusement in the Espada.<p>

He let it pass, not allowing it to interfere with his plans. "You and Ulquiorra may each train a set of Arrancar of your own choosing and you'll be in charge of keeping any extraneous forces from Las Noches," he said as a grin crossed Grimmjow's face. "I expect there'll be some visitors once Orihime is noticed as missing. Keep any shinigami or Living away from here. I don't care how you do it."

Aizen's freehand on the matter brought a promissory sneer from Grimmjow. "Yes, Aizen-sama."

Aizen's eyes were on the wide set of tall doors across the room. He stood at the steps of the grand stairs to the throne and platform that rose to his side. He didn't sit there much anymore. He knew it was an intimidating place, and that wasn't quite the influence he wanted now, not on her. He knew he had to undo, to misplace some of what Orihime knew of him.

Actually, a good portion of what she knew of him.

But he had time. She had time, too. She could relearn, and be his again.

One tall door across the room opened and closed and then footsteps echoed across the limestone floor as two shadows appeared. Aizen focused on the pair.

He ignored much of Ulquiorra, eyes fastened on the slender, shapely silhouette of Orihime as she timidly walked a few steps behind the Espada. Her blue skirt swayed as she moved, her fingers clasped together before her as her wide eyes took in the mammoth chamber that seemed to swallow her small form. Even from his distance, Aizen could see her hesitation to approach.

Ulquiorra halted them before Aizen. Orihime's nervous glance went to Grimmjow standing off to one side before going to Aizen. Her gaze fell before him momentarily, and when she looked up a different sadness hinted her eyes.

"Welcome back, Orihime," Aizen said, allowing some of a smile.

She bowed. "Aizen-sama."

Ulquiorra wasn't ready with a report, his confusion still evident in his stilted movements. He extended his hand to Aizen. "This has been surrendered, Aizen-sama."

Aizen looked to the sole hairpin in the Espada's palm. He took it, attention on Orihime. "Very good, Ulquiorra." He saw Orihime's eyes follow the movement, the slight lurch in her face as he took the hairpin housing her protective power sprites. "You may keep your healing powers for the moment."

She barely nodded, eyes still on the hairpin.

Aizen looked to Grimmjow and then Ulquiorra. "That is all. You may both go."

For a moment there was an unsettled pause, and then Grimmjow and Ulquiorra nodded and left the room, both with a glance back at the Living girl.

Aizen smiled at her, hoping to bring a glimmer of one from her. There was none.

He turned and gestured to the hall door leading out of the cavernous room. "Walk with me, Orihime."

She nodded. "Yes, Aizen-sama."

She followed him across the room, each time his attempt to get her to walk alongside of him failing. Finally at the far door, he opened it and let one arm rest across her shoulders.

Orihime immediately looked to him, flinching as his hand moved her hair.

"You needn't startle," he said, ushering her through the door and into a long corridor lit on one side. "I know you've been through much here, in Hueco Mundo, and your memories of this place are polluted by the War." He let his hand remain on her shoulder, the silkiness of her hair reminding him of other times. "But memories are odd creatures, don't you think?"

She walked at his side, mostly because she had no choice, partly because his voice had dropped to a mesmerizing tone. "I, I suppose so, Aizen-sama." She made an effort not to bite her lower lip. "I remember everything that happened here," she ventured, bracing herself for reprimand.

Instead he chuckled. "Well, sometimes we remember things differently. I understand you're immune to kikanshinki's effects." His gaze fell to her lips when she faced him with curiosity. "Yes, I heard about that in Soul Society. Very remarkable."

She looked ahead as he directed them around a juncture of halls where a brighter corridor opened. She wasn't sure if it was the contact of his hand on her shoulder or something else, but his overpowering presence wasn't as dominant. Perhaps the Hyogoku's absence or maybe he was masking some of his incredible reiatsu, she thought. Or maybe because he was shinigami now.

"I think that will give you a better chance at remembering everything, don't you think?"

She frowned for a moment as he halted them at one of the doors in the hall. He opened it and let her in, following, closing the door behind them. The room was small, with a wide window opening to a view of the courtyard below, making her realize they were on a higher floor. She could see nothing out it but the opposite end of the complex, the wall running around Las Noches.

The room was a pale gray lilac, one of the few places of color she'd seen in the fortress since her first visit. Before them was a low table set with a tea service and several plates of finger food, and to one side stood a female form. Orihime looked closer at the figure as Aizen's hand moved from her right shoulder, sliding across her back to intercept her opposite left arm.

The female figure had smooth features, eyes lowered, dressed simply in a cheongsam style white robe, hair wrapped in a severe bun.

"Dismissed," Aizen said to the female.

The form bowed and left out the door behind them.

Orihime turned to watch it, and then looked up at Aizen before she could stop herself.

His slight smile wasn't the same she'd seen on him before, not the malicious smirk or power-hungry cruel smile. Something a little different.

Certainly not warm or true, she thought, following as his hand on her arm led her to the table.

"Sit down, Orihime."

She let herself sit on her knees at the mauve cushion to one side of the table as he sat to her left on another. He poured tea from the jute green pot into two small matching cups, placing one before her.

"We've had tea together before, but I doubt you remember that." He set the pot down. "It was a lifetime ago. Few can remember past that." He slid a plate of rice thins to her. "Help yourself, Orihime."

Her eyes darted up to him, puzzlement making her wary.

He nodded. "You can be confused for a while; I expect as much."

She frowned, eyes going to the tea steaming from her cup for a long moment before rising to him. He looked much the same as he had when she'd been previously coerced into accompanying Ulquiorra to Las Noches. His hair was still pushed back, a few strands escaping in the front, but his clothes were a little different. So had been Ulquiorra and Grimmjow's, she recalled, although mere minor differences in some of the black trim. She looked to the maroon piping that ran along the black of his jacket and cuffs, a subtle change that meant little, she decided. Most of the difference was in his face.

His expression seemed less cunning. She wasn't sure how, for there was nothing different in the smile. She'd never seen him in Soul Society when she'd followed Ichigo to rescue Rukia from certain death.

Disarming, she decided. Maybe that was it. Not quite charming, because she knew him, but not exactly cruel. Her fingers closed around the warm cup. "Will there be another war?"

As soon as the words left her lips, Orihime wanted to swallow them back. Ulquiorra had given her no explanation; he'd simply appeared in her room, and barely had she pulled her hairpins than he plucked one from her fingers.

Her attack sprite and two of her shielding sprites. Not her healing powers or the third shielding spite, Lily. He said she wouldn't need them, and that Aizen wished to speak with her.

"No." He raised his cup to his lips, blowing on the hot tea. "Your friends are in no danger from me, unless they try to follow you here."

She nodded. She put her unsteady hands around her cup, hoping to still them.

"You're here because I want to know more about your time in Soul Society." He set the cup on the table. "Perhaps you remember more than you think you do."

She shook her head immediately. "I don't. I've never been permitted to be anywhere sensitive."

He smiled more. "Maybe not recently." He nudged the rice thins closer to her. "These are very good. We have better cuisine this time."

She looked from the small discs of pressed rice to him. "I thought everything was destroyed here."

"Nearly so. Szayel, our researcher, was quite thorough. He made the necessary safeguards in case of such an emergency." He took one of the thins. "Most of our operations are intact. Some even have improvements. Much has changed since you were last here, Orihime."

She slowly took a rice thin, seeing more of a smile cross his face.

"I'm not asking you these questions because I'm curious about Soul Society," he said, seeing her fingers toy with the thin. "You have a new room here."

This time her whole body jolted, her hand nearly snapping the thin. She shook her head.

"Yes, you do." There was more of a chill to his smile now. "You'll be staying. As my guest."

Orihime tried to find words, ones that wouldn't pour out in an incoherent jumble, but she couldn't.

"I'm going to ask you a question, one I want you to think intently about before answering," he said, his tone more serious now. "Do you understand?"

She nodded. "Yes, I think so, Aizen-sama." She held her breath, the rice thin forgotten with the cooling tea.

"Good." He pulled the two other plates of ginger rolls and another edible she didn't recognize closer to her plate. "For now I want you to eat and rest up. I'll show you to your room in a while, after you've eaten. A seamstress will be in tomorrow to take your measurements for a new wardrobe," he said, appreciating the sudden shock in her face that made her look to him with those wide violet-gray eyes he remembered. "Something tasteful, Orihime. Nothing like an Arrancar uniform."

She nodded, unable to find her voice, mind numbing.

He stood up, moving to her side as she remained immobile at the table, eyes still on the untouched tea in her cup.

"I want you to think back," he said, bending to lean to her ear, watching her eyes fastened on the tea, "and recall your first memory."

She turned her head, face inches from his as she looked at him. The proximity made her hair brush his jaw, making the fear in her wide eyes nearly eclipse the color.

He nodded. "I want to know your first memory, Orihime." His gaze went to the slight tremble at her lips, then back to her eyes. "What's your first memory? Ever."

He stood and moved to the door, leaving her confused at the table. He watched her motionless figure, eyes traveling over the shape of her waist and hips as she sat on her knees, her profile still turned, her eyes lowered.

In confusion, Aizen guessed. "Think about it."

She nodded slightly. "Yes, Aizen-sama."

The door opened and closed, and Orihime saw him leave out of her peripheral vision. She faced forward again, a surreal feeling washing over her.

Memories? A new illusionary trick?

She wanted to shake the idea from her head, but bewilderment was too thick in it.

Orihime sighed slowly, eyes open but unseeing as she stared at the tea cup before her.

Maybe she would wake up in her bed at home and everything would be a bad dream from too many sweet bean paste buns. She certainly hoped so.


	3. Chapter 3

Orihime had little time to wonder about what Aizen wanted of her this time before he returned to collect her from the lilac room. She'd nibbled at the rice thins, taken a few sips of tea, guiltily pleased by the light taste, and was left to her confusion about his talk of her memories.

She'd spent a good deal of her childhood _not_ remembering, mostly with Sora's influence, and it had worked.

Memories of her parents were unpleasant, to say the least, but they faded with time, and with her brother's efforts to replace those moments with brighter memories.

She frowned as she followed Aizen now from the lilac room, at his side at the urging his arm at her shoulders requested, but her steps hesitant. As reluctant as she was to go anywhere with him, she was more frightened not to obey.

They saw a few more Arrancar figures in the hall, most like the female form she'd seen in the lilac room where she'd had tea, and Aizen explained to her they were a very basic model of Arrancar sprung from Szayel's research, but lacking in drive and will.

"Suitable for service," he told her, pausing at a door as they turned a corner of the wing in the new corridor. "That's all I require of them. Upkeep."

She nodded, seeing his easy smile that inexplicably calmed some of the nervous rattle of heartbeat in her core. He pushed open the door.

Inside was a bedroom suite, the forepart of the room opening to a sitting area with the bed curtained off by nearly transparent gray panels. Whatever momentarily soothing her pulse had lapsed into now jolted back into terror.

She didn't move, even as his arm tightened at her back.

"Come along, Orihime," he said, bending to her ear.

She nodded mechanically, feet moving against her will.

His arm dropped from her as he closed the door behind them. "I know it's austere now, but you'll have time and resources to make it more hospitable. Somewhere you want to be." He smiled at her obvious shock. "Your choice of colors, more comfortable furnishings, if you can give us a definite idea of what you'd like to have. The lab here now isn't what it used to be under Szayel's command, but it's getting better."

He spoke more, his voice unlike the tone he used when he'd threatened her friends, promising to rule several dimensions, or commanding his legion of Arrancar.

She nodded, listening, watching as he gestured to the small closet at one wall, which he showed her was now empty but would be filled soon. The opposite wall led to what appeared to be a lovely sight of the courtyard beyond. Out it opened a view of blue skies and tree tops in the distance, their greens contrasting with the white and umber of the mountains in the background. The rail of the balcony at the startling view was alabaster with touches of gold trim, with a small cushioned bench to one side.

Orihime went there automatically, without thinking how strange it was to see such colors in Las Noches. A smile came to her face, caught in the oddity out the veranda.

She put one hand to the porch opening, passing Aizen nearly without thinking, her gaze on the greens of the trees.

"It's not real," he said as she took a step onto the balcony.

She frowned, halting, eyes searching the landscape. "It's ...it's not real?"

"No. An illusion."

He met her on the porch, seeing the disappointment coupled with disbelief in her face. He moved her hair from her shoulder, feeling her remain immobile, eyes still on the scenery. "There's little color to be seen here. I thought this illusion might make your new home easier."

She blinked a few times, as if expecting the image before her to disappear or move and prove Aizen wrong. She almost laughed to herself. Prove him wrong?

He sighed, fingers pressing at her shoulder. "We're working on movement. Maybe something among the trees. An animal. Would you like that?"

She turned to him, unsure she'd heard correctly. "An animal?"

He nodded, his smile changing to something that eased one from her. "What do you think? A deer? Or something smaller?"

She didn't catch the smile that crossed her lips as she looked back to the scenery. "You made this illusion?"

"No. This is a mural, of sorts."

"Oh."

He stood straighter. "I'd rather have my supper with you, but I'll be away this evening. I'll have your meal brought here."

Orihime's eyes focused closer as he stepped away, her mind whirling with the tentative grasp she presently had on her surroundings.

"Think about what I said, Orihime."

She slowly turned, watching him near the door. "My first memory."

He chuckled. "Well, yes that, but also what you want to do with the room. Make it your own. Put up," he gestured to the bed, "something of color, or texture. You need only tell me what you want, and we'll see if the lab can do it."

This time the finality in his tone prompted her words before she thought them through. "I have to stay? I'll never go home again?" She swallowed down the next words before she could utter them.

A flash of disapproval went through him, but he didn't act on it. He nodded slowly, seeing through the thin but brave front she tried to keep. "You're without family among the Living, Orihime. You have good friends; I understand that. But you need more." He smiled at the nervous confusion in her eyes. "You know how life and death work, don't you?"

She nodded slightly as he crossed the room back to her.

"We're born, we live, and then die," he said, stopping before her, his voice lowering as he neared. "We spend time in Soul Society, among the dead, or as unrested spirits. The dead are reborn. Even shinigami. We're sent back to the Living and reborn, without memories of our past. All this without memories of our pasts, our other lives and deaths."

She nodded, frowning as she tried to follow his explanation.

"But sometimes those events get out of order, like when you and your friends raided Soul Society." He smiled, letting his hand cup under hers, feeling her fingers tense at the contact. "Through all this the living remember the dead and the dead forget their other lives. And after a while people die in Soul Society and move into a new life, reborn into the Living world, and forget about ones they've known and loved during death."

A different fear slowly breached her old fears. She looked to each of his eyes, seeing no malice, just the cool façade he'd kept during decades of deception. She only knew of his most recent lies, and even that knowledge made her distrust slip momentarily. She shook her head, swallowing as she looked down at her hand in his.

"I know I may have lived before, as someone else," she said, trying to think through the murky concept. "But we're not supposed to remember our other lives."

It was a small fragment of understanding, but he considered it a start. "Just because we're not supposed to doesn't mean it isn't possible."

Her hand withdrew from his before he could stop it. She pulled her hand to her chest, this time confronting him with more puzzlement than alarm or loathing. "But we're reborn to be new people. Aren't we, Aizen-sama?"

"Yes." He looked to the door, as if hearing something she could not. His next question was one burning to be asked, but he didn't think it would further his progress. Most likely not, he decided. "Settle yourself in here. Your supper will be sent shortly. And this," he said, looking to the mural that appeared more scenic view from a window than static image, "can be changed, if you prefer another scene."

She looked to the vivid greens and blues than she would have sworn were real. "I like this."

"Good. I'll see you in the morning."

He left then, and Orihime was left alone to ponder the glimpse of bewilderment she felt was soon to follow. It had always confused her, the uneven running of Time within Soul Society and the Living world, and the planes on which the living and dead sometimes leaped. She'd meant to ask more questions about it in Soul Society, find out more about her brother.

But she knew, even if she were dead, finding Sora would be impossible. The deceased didn't remember their former lives, and the Living didn't often go to Soul Society alive. All that Aizen was saying could be true, she knew, her head starting to ache as she tried to find her way among his words.

She shook her head and looked around the rooms. The front area had a low table and three cushions, and a pile of cushions and pillows arranged like a couch were against another wall.

It was the bed that made her realize the definiteness of her un-visit. It was spacious and stacked with pillows in mauve and violet at the headboard, its four tall posts appearing to be of wood, the ribs above framing it, but empty of curtains.

A shudder went through Orihime as she looked again to the window. This was no rushed, coerced invitation, she decided. He'd made some arrangements. Almost as if he'd decided she would approve her permanent stay.

She ran one hand up her opposite arm, a chill creeping up her spine despite the comfortable temperature of the suite. She looked back to the window and this time went there and put a tentative hand to the image above the rail.

Her fingers went through, the air beyond slightly warmer, making her jerk her hand back instantly. Nothing in the scenic image changed; only her fingers disappeared.

She exhaled a shaky sigh, looking to the door to the hall. If she was going to wake up from this strange dream, she decided, she needed to go to sleep.

She looked to the bed with misgivings. It was worth a try.

* * *

><p>That night the dreams Orihime had weren't her usual ones, of sweet buns with butter and honey, of leek soup and butterscotches, or even of being late for her job.<p>

These dreams were simply void swirls of color that funneled to a point far out of her reach, like a whirlpool. It made her wake up dizzy.

A few glances around her room – her new room – and Orihime was galvanized to her bearings, but frightened.

This was far more than a couch in Las Noches.

Breakfast was brought by one of the Arrancar, similar to the one she'd seen the day before, but Orihime was unsure if it was the same or a different one. They all looked the same, all simple, all servile.

She ate alone, this time with more appetite than the night before when her stomach twisted with knots of the unknown.

The unknown was still with her, but now she was hungry. She'd barely finished when a light tapping came to the door, and this time Aizen stepped in. She gulped her tepid tea and stood, estimating his mood.

He nodded at her empty dishes. "We'll say it's morning, Orihime. Good morning."

"Good morning," she said, unable to catch herself from looking to the image at the balcony. It remained unchanged.

"Yes, we'll get the lab to make something more appropriate. Maybe a sunset at night?" He watched her gaze return to him. "Would you like that?"

She faltered in answering. Maybe she was still sleeping.

"Very well, we shall see." He took her elbow and walked her to the wall to one side. "Have you adjusted?"

"No." It slipped out before she could think and she hurriedly added, "This is all so sudden."

"Yes. Some changes are." He put a hand to the door at the wall.

She knew it wasn't to the facilities; she'd found those the night before. The door to the lavish bathroom was on the same wall, further into the room, and the sheer size of the pink and violet tiled tub had made her feel weak. She was almost afraid to find out what was behind this door. She'd tried it when exploring the room, only to find it locked. The knob turned in Aizen's hand.

"This is a sort of common room," he said, opening the door to the one beyond. "A neutral space. Go in."

The room was half the size of her bedchamber, a square table in the center with cushions and rolls around it, with no view to the wall where Orihime thought a balcony should be, like hers. She stared at the barren fern-green wall, as if expecting an image or mural to appear. A sigh to her right made her look to another door at that wall.

Two Arrancar stood there, female, these with more features to their faces, dressed in white robes. In their arms were bolts of colorful cloth, one with a bag and basket at her side.

"I thought something traditional," Aizen said, his hand on her back as Orihime stepped into the room. "A few kimonos, and skirts, blouses, whatever you want. They'll take your measurements and begin a new wardrobe for you."

Her face snapped around to him, eyes widening. "You really want me to stay here? For good?"

"Exactly. For good."

She wanted to ask why; why this time. There was no war to justify her presence. Everything her capture had gained last time was still in place. He knew who would miss her, who would come for her, who her absence would affect. She couldn't figure what could be accomplished this time that hadn't been last time.

Unless he does plan another war, she thought, looking back to the two Arrancar watching her with subtle curiosity. She wished she had both her hairpins.

"This is Orihime," Aizen was saying to the attendants. "She's your mistress. You'll be fitting her and seeing to anything she needs." He turned to Orihime. "They haven't names yet, so if you would like to name them, you may."

Her gaze went back to them. They seemed less like Arrancar and more like simply beings, making her wonder at what else Aizen had been busy with since his escape.

He nodded to them. "Show her the cloth. Whatever she wants, you design it for her."

"Yes, Aizen-sama," the pair said almost in unison.

The next hour was surreal for Orihime. She'd expected him to leave, but he sat at the collection of pillows against the wall, looking more casual than she'd ever seen him, watching as the two attendants displayed the bolts of cloth.

The patterns were mostly floral, some with designs of shapes and stripes, most prints lending well to kimonos she'd seen in boutiques about Tokyo on a few visits. The two women took turns holding up lengths of cloth to her, murmuring comments about color and shades without emotion in their faces, their tones lacking inflection. It gave her the impression the responses were almost programmed.

The colors were pastels and lighter patterns, for the most part, with a few more vibrant designs, and a couple out of place heavier damasks. So wrapped up in inspecting the beautiful cloth, she almost forgot Aizen was there. Almost.

"The yellow definitely," he said, reminding her of his presence. "And the mild green. Do you like them?"

Orihime nodded, letting the soft cotton-like mint green cloth fall through her fingers. She looked to him, seeing his eyes on the fabric. She couldn't believe this was the same man who'd nearly taken down Soul Society. His attention went from the cloth to her.

"Hold it up; let's see how it looks against you."

She thought she'd heard incorrectly, but pulled a length of the yellow flowered cloth to her shoulder, returning his intent study.

He nodded, smiling more. "That one."

She didn't bite her lower lip, but she was tempted to. She smoothed the cloth at her shoulder, watching him. For a moment his smile wasn't one she'd seen on him before, yet somehow familiar. She shook her head, eyes dropping to the cloth as a blush hinted her cheeks.

"You don't like it?"

"Yes," she said quickly as he stood. She held her ground as he stepped closer, steeling against her natural response to back away.

"Which do you like best?" he asked.

She looked back to the bolts, her mind feeling oddly cool as she tried to think. Truthfully, she liked all the patterns, but knew some would lend better to clothing than other. Uryu had made certain she knew that at Handcrafts Club at school.

He watched her hand brush a few of the rolls of cloth. "All?"

She resisted the impulse to agree.

He chuckled at her hesitancy, looking to the attendants. "All of them. And she'll use some for her room, too."

Orihime looked to him.

"For your bed. It's quite bare, and you'll want something besides that dull gray for panels." He lifted one side of the blue damask she'd passed on for a kimono. "Whatever you want, Orihime."

Before she could speak, he pulled a bolt of plainer linen from under the other rolls. "This for a top and pants," he told one of the attendants. He looked back to Orihime. "For practice. You'll be bored here in a week, so we'll find something to keep you busy."

She was about to ask what he meant, but this time caught herself.

"I'm due in the lab to see what progress has been made with the new breed of Hollows."

She looked to him quickly at this, all caution resurfacing despite his relaxed tone. "You're creating something?" The cloth in her hand wrinkled under her sudden grip. "You – I thought ... is there..."

"No. No war, Orihime," he said. His hand covered hers, easing her clutch on the material. "I have continued my interest in the Hollow physiology. My days as an active shinigami are over," he said, slight exasperation in his manner, looking to the two attendants that averted their eyes back to the bolts of cloth. His gaze settled on Orihime, her protective alertness pleasing him. "But I do have several experiments I'm conducting. These Arrancar have had their pugnacious attitudes weaned out, making them accommodating and an asset for my use. It might be an acceptable alternative to army-building, don't you think?"

She studied the two female figures. They certainly didn't seem hostile, unlike the other Arrancar she'd met on her previous visit to Hueco Mundo. She wasn't sure they were as intelligent, but far more harmless appearing than others. This time she looked to Aizen with more curiosity than caution.

He nodded, letting her hand fold in his, feeling no resistance to his touch. "They're still productive, so you should have something new to wear soon." His eyes dropped to the uncertain set at her lips, something that wasn't quite a frown, he decided, but less than a smile. Attractive, nonetheless, he thought. "Show me when it's ready."

Orihime wasn't sure why, but she nodded readily.

"Good."

He turned and left, giving the attendants a few instructions as he opened the door that Orihime saw led to the corridor.

She watched it shut, mind spinning in a new direction, frantically trying to sort how much was true, how much near-lies for her benefit.

She shook her head. Why her benefit? Would it matter if she believed a lie of him? He hadn't cared for the truth before.

"...the yellow, would you like that first?" one of the attendants was saying to her.

Orihime looked to her. The female Arrancar appeared middle-aged, more like a mother than an engineered Hollow, her face devoid of much expression, except mild inquiry.

Was that what was left after the fight had been removed from a Hollow? she wondered.

"Or perhaps the green," the other attendant said, her soft monotone non-argumentative. She held up the blue damask. "You wish this one for draping?"

"Oh, it is too heavy," the first said. "Something lighter. Chiffon or crepe."

The second one huffed. "We haven't any here."

Orihime watched them bicker, a nearly emotionless tiff that was words only.

She couldn't see a pastime like removing the fight from a Hollow occupying Aizen. He'd spent decades doing just the opposite.

She tried to weave into the attendants' conversation. "Do you have crepe?"

They both turned to her and nodded. "What color would you like to see?" the first asked.

Orihime touched the edge of the thicker damask fabric, confusion winning out over Aizen's change in, well, everything.

"We'll bring them all," the second attendant decided.

"First her measurements," the first said, going to the basket a few feet away. She knelt and pulled out a few small items. They both looked to Orihime expectantly.

But Orihime was still trying to grasp the change in demeanor of Las Noches' ruler. She knew he'd appreciated the finer and gentler pastimes in Soul Society before he'd made himself known as a traitor, but she thought that had been part of his ploy.

She wondered how it worked into what he was now.


	4. Chapter 4

The next few days were surreal for Orihime. Each morning began with breakfast brought by one of the engineered Arrancar, usually followed by a brief visit from Aizen, and then he would leave her to investigate the newest workmanship from the two female attendants.

Orihime hadn't named them, nor did she plan to.

She wasn't going to be there that long. _That_ she had promised herself.

Although it had only been a few days, Aizen had made it clear to her that her stay was permanent. She didn't want that.

It hadn't been her choice this time, accompanying Ulquiorra, and she saw no benefit in it.

"Yes, Aizen-sama," she said obediently as they sat at dinner on the fifth day. The expertly prepared food before her held no appeal, and she sorely missed the most basic of food from the Living world.

"I don't think you were paying attention." He sat across from her in the west room, the room at the end of the hall from her suite, a room he'd introduced her to for most of their shared meals. It was much like other rooms she'd seen, with an exterior wall that overlooked the courtyard of Las Noches' interior that was surrounded by other buildings or wall, some of which was in disrepair still from the War. The room's walls were shades of cobalt blue, and the balcony here actually did look out over the lower courtyard.

Not that there was much to see, Orihime had learned. Usually, at most, she could see glimpses of Ulquiorra or Grimmjow training with a few Arrancar in the distance behind the concrete lattice divider that was erected to hide the broken parts of the fortress.

Aizen's gaze narrowed on her. "You haven't given me the answer I expect, Orihime."

She looked up from her plate, chopsticks posed over it in a tight grip. "I never got to say goodbye to anyone," she said, holding her breath. In the last few days her homesickness had outweighed some of her fears. Despite the casual clothing he supplied and the homier touches of dressing her bed and room with draped fabric, it was still not _home_. "If I said I wanted to stay here, it wouldn't be the truth."

This time there was more than mere disappointment in his face. He carefully set his chopsticks against the holder by his plate, studying her for a long moment.

"You don't like your room?"

She looked to each of his eyes, judging the steeliness behind them that seemed to magnify her defenses. "It's very nice, and I'm grateful for your, your thoughtfulness, Aizen-sama," she said deliberately.

"Then you really do not wish to be here?"

She kept back the torrent of forlornness that wanted to break out. She nodded.

"Pour us both tea, Orihime."

She set down her chopsticks with shaky fingers.

It had become a game to him, she knew, over the last few evening meals. As soon as he sensed her weakness about her Living life, he requested her to serve them tea.

Her hands shook as she obeyed, the tea pot trembling as the tea dribbled into the small cups for each of them.

"You'll adjust to being here. Thank you," he said as she slid the half full cup to him. "It may take time, but we have time. Whatever you need to make your adjustment easier, or swifter, tell me and we'll see if it can be done."

She set the pot down, nervous fingers edging her cup closer as tears brimmed her eyes.

"No."

She looked up again as he reached his hand to her chin and tilted her face higher.

He shook his head, frowning slightly. "No crying. The sooner you accept your new home here, the sooner you will remember our time together."

She sat straighter, pulling from him. The table was between them, but for a moment he seemed much nearer. She shook her head. "Our time?"

Aizen realized his misstep. He lowered his hand to rest at the table edge. For a long moment his eyes flicked over the flowered yellow kimono. It fit her curvy form perfectly, the color highlighting her hair she'd pulled up into a loose bun at the back of her head in decorative combs, a few loose tendrils framing her face in auburn.

"You haven't been spending enough time recalling your first memory, Orihime," he decided. He took the cup before him, eyes more severe on her.

"I have tried, Aizen-sama," she said meekly, her voice breaking at the end. "I can't remember much before my brother took me away from our parents." She swallowed forcefully, not wanting to voice the words that had plagued her since he'd hinted at memories and a past that included him. "I can't remember any former lives."

"You don't want to remember."

She shook her head, brain freezing at the displeasure in his face. He set the cup of tea down on the table.

"Is that it?"

Orihime tried to breathe but the air fell short of her lungs, the pressure in the room seeming to push any air out of her. She wasn't sure if it was her or something he was doing. She knew he could.

And then she could breathe easier again.

But he still stared at her with a barely tolerant study, expectant.

"A past that includes you?" She took a deeper breath, summoning her courage. "Us?"

"Precisely."

She felt dizzy, as if she were going to be sick if she told the truth. "You were the enemy of Soul Society and ... and my friends."

This time his scowl was tempered with something else, something less caustic. "Too much to let go?"

She didn't know. She realized she was gripping the cloth napkin beside her plate so tightly her fingernails left purple half moons in her palm. "This is all so new still, Aizen-sama."

"If it's too much to remember," he said causally, a tone she'd heard before and didn't trust, "then we shall create a new history together."

This time the trembling in her hands won over and she flinched, bumping the tea and sloshing some of it into her plate.

"I'm sorry," she murmured, and then recoiled as he moved to the corner of the table beside her. "I'm sorry, Aizen-sama!"

"Don't apologize for a little tea, Orihime," he said, pulling the napkin from her clenched fingers, his other hand on her upper arm. "It's no matter."

His firm grasp on her arm kept her near, but her mind wanted to flee. The walls of the blue room seemed to close in, crowding them together, pushing him too close as if to emphasize the point that she was not leaving. It forced a sob from her before she could catch it. She turned her face away as he bent to see her better. She wanted to close her eyes but was afraid to, keeping him in view as she sucked up the next sob.

Aizen smoothed the rumpled yellow sleeve in his grip, straightening the hem at her wrist. "There was a time, Orihime, that you enjoyed my company," he said quietly near her ear. "It was long ago, in another life – after death, actually – when we were both different from what we are now."

She looked to him at this, the low tone of his voice subtracting the impact of his words.

His eyes went to her lips. "You and I have a past and we are going to have a future again. Together." He looked to the realization slipping into her large eyes. "Whether you accept our history or not, we will have a future, as we intended before you died too early at the Academy."

Now her arm began to shake in his hand, but he closed his fingers tighter, defeating even her tremble.

"I've never been to the Academy," she finally said, disbelief making her doubt her ears. She shook her head. "I can't remember –"

He sat back, still kneeling beside her, and took a moment to loosen his hold on her arm. She pulled her arm close, eyes still on his face.

"You were there, with me. You don't have to remember, but we will recreate our relationship, Orihime." He smiled, something less than warm but not quite the cold smile he'd leveled on his enemies as he explained their imminent defeat. "You'll accept it. You'll accept your new home here, and you will accept me."

He stood up, leaving her numb and without hope.

"Finish eating, and then you can go back to your rooms." He went to the door, seeing her unmoving as he watched for an indication of acceptance. Any sign of acceptance.

But there was none from her.

"It will be better for you to remember on your own, Orihime," he added. "Don't take too long."

She heard the door open, and she thought she said something in response; she wasn't sure. She thought she murmured or nodded.

The door closed and she was left to look at her tea-dribbled soba noodles and vegetables on the plate.

She shook her head, the wide sash of the kimono suddenly feeling too tight around her. She braced one palm on the table, the dizziness over-running her reasoning, and then black engulfed her vision.

* * *

><p>Orihime wasn't aware that Aizen had been alerted to her collapse by one of her attendants and had carried her to her bed that evening.<p>

She didn't know the pause it gave him to gently lay her down within the confines of the enormous bed amid the new mauve and moss green sheets and blankets, nor did she remember that his arms had been around her countless times during a past she couldn't recall.

He'd watched her sleep for a while that night, pulling the bedclothes over her yellow kimono draped form, some of his baser instincts wanting to surface and call the shots. He didn't let them; he'd spent decades perfecting illusions and that often demanded that he deny his own immediate desires for future, more long term desires.

But that didn't mean it came without difficulty, watching her sleep while he refrained from touching her. He didn't like what he saw in her face, not entirely. Even in sleep her features were troubled with his news from their previous conversation, and he didn't like it.

He sighed, brushing away a strand of hair that lay across her throat. He didn't expect her to smile in her sleep, but he knew she could be quite frivolous, even silly, at times. He sighed again, watching her chest as she breathed.

She could be very silly, in fact, something that hadn't changed in her new life after their shared time in Soul Society.

* * *

><p>All Orihime knew when she awoke the next morning was that she was still in her clothes from the day before, but as the day progressed she learned how she'd gotten back to her room. As that week expired, she also realized Aizen was serious about what he'd told her, and expected her to be, too.<p>

It left her both fearful beyond comprehension and with a new urgency to escape.

She stood at the west wing of the hall where her bedroom suite and the other rooms she frequented with him were housed. With him, she thought, cringing at the idea.

She put a hand to the window sill that ran around the wide pane of glass out which she could see most of the courtyard. It stretched in all directions, and farther on she knew Grimmjow and Ulquiorra were training their Arrancar troops.

She could see little of them. In fact, she'd seen little of either of the remaining Espada in her week at the compound.

A week, she thought. A week into her new future, and one she did not want. She watched the empty courtyard below without seeing it. She'd already cried out all her tears the preceding few days. She had a vague idea of what Aizen thought was their history together, but more importantly, she was fully realizing what he wanted in their future.

"No," she murmured to no one, straining to see past the concrete lattice fencing. "I can't live a future like that."

She frowned, seeing little of the ceros being blown on the other side of the barrier outside. Ulquiorra barely spoke with her. He was like he'd been when he first brought her to Las Noches on her initial capture. Stoic, that unforgiving deadness to his face that made her want to make him smile, at least a little. She hadn't succeeded in that, but they'd come to a commonality before he'd died that day after his fight with Ichigo.

Or maybe he hadn't died, she rethought. She wasn't sure. Either way, Ulquiorra wasn't the same as she'd last seen him, not when he'd reached out to her, in understanding, at that last moment.

She looked back to the hall in which she stood. Aizen had given her the run of the wing, which seemed to be an endless maze of halls that always led back to her room. She sighed, standing straighter in the white kimono with powder blue flowers and gold and green embroidery. As unhappy as she was about her situation, having an unhappy Aizen was worse. It was that fact that made her turn desperate.

She turned down the hall and let herself wander.

He was clearly delusional; even if they had shared a past – whether in Soul Society or in the Living world – he couldn't expect her to remember it. That wasn't how death and life worked, and he knew that.

"He's mistaken," she whispered as she passed down the gray hall of tall walls. "He must be."

It was the course she had wandered the last few days, her mind twisting over new thoughts and problems as her feet followed the maze of halls. She always ended up at her own room, so she didn't worry about it too much.

Meals with Aizen the last few times had been stilted and brief. She ate what she could, which was little, and he often left before she was finished. He made excuses to see about the progress with the Arrancar in the labs, and Orihime was only too glad he was gone.

He was still cordial, but expectant, and that made her all the more eager to leave. She knew few ways to leave, to escape Sousuke Aizen, but Orihime also had learned a few things about the Living world and what lay beyond it in death. She knew death was not the end, but a transition to an afterlife in Soul Society.

She hadn't made it a genuine alternative yet, she decided as she turned the next corridor, feeling the large walls swallow her up in yet another hall, but she was close.

The thought actually sickened her a little; she'd never considered taking her own life, but if it meant giving her back her freedom, even in a freedom to Soul Society, she would give it serious thought. Even more certain than that, she was sure she would not entertain thoughts of being Aizen's associate in any conjoined future.

The unease in her stomach twisted again, churning her lunch into an ill-feeling. She stopped, looking around her at the empty hall that looked like every other hall. There were no windows, only the indirect lighting that ran along the walls where the ceiling touched.

She looked behind her, unsure if she'd taken a wrong turn in a compound loaded with wrong choices. She felt the air around her thicken, and spun around as footsteps approached from another corridor juncture.

As she began to recognize the powerful reiatsu approaching, Grimmjow turned the corner. The scowl on his face turned to a wicked grin as he spotted her backing up a step.

"What the hell are you doing here?" he demanded, closing the distance between them.

Orihime made herself stand her ground, the flurry of thoughts desperately charging through her head suddenly screeching to a halt. He was obviously recently finished with his training rounds in the courtyard, his jacket bearing a few slits and singes from a lucky or skilled sparring partner.

Grimmjow growled something she didn't hear. "You're not supposed to be in this hall," he said, glimpsing the white and blue kimono. A different grin leased his face. "Are you lost?"

She nodded. "Yes."

He pointed the way she'd come. "Go back that way and head left. You'll get back to where you were."

He turned to leave and Orihime swallowed down the bulk of her hesitation.

"Jaegerjaquez-san," she called as loudly as she dared, taking a few steps as he stopped. "Would you ..." Her words failed as he turned. "Take me back to the Living world!"

At first he was too shocked to respond, but then the leer came back to his lips. "Yeah?"

She nodded, mustering her courage as he stepped closer. "Please. I can't stay here. I know you can go back. You have before."

He chuckled, stopping before her, cocking his head to one side to carefully study the shape her figure made in the kimono. "Why should I?"

Orihime swallowed down the rattle that began in her nerves. "Aizen-sama thinks I'm someone else. Someone from his past." She shook her head, seeing the amusement in his expression. "I'm not."

"Maybe you are," he said levelly, grinning as he looked to the chopsticks holding her hair at the back of her head. "You ever think of that? Or don't you like the possibility?"

She shook her head, knowing he could be right.

His smile turned cutting. "What's in it for me?" He grinned wider as she caught her breath, a blush tinting her cheeks in the low light of the hall. "You're asking for quite a risk, girl. What do I get in return for putting my balls on the line for you?"

Orihime had actually thought about this. She'd mulled it over, knowing if she asked anyone for help – and the choices seemed to be limited to Ulquiorra and Grimmjow – that there would be a price. She swallowed, her throat suddenly dry.

"I haven't heard an answer yet," he said, leaning one hand to the wall beside her face as she stalled answering. "What would you give me in return?"

She nodded, focusing on his face close to hers. "Anything you want."

One side of his smile arched higher. "Yeah?" He nodded, gaze resting on the crossed edges of the kimono at her chest. His eyes snapped back to her face. "Wrong. How long do you think going back would last, Inoue?" he said briskly, humor dropping from his face. "Dammit, think about it, girl. You go back to the Living and Aizen will haul your pretty ass back here before you could blink. Don't you know that?"

She shook her head.

He nodded. "Yes, he would. So, don't waste your time or put my ass on the block by asking because you don't like it here." He straightened, eyes glinting at her confusion. "And don't ask that lapdog Ulquiorra because he won't help you, either. Think a little; Aizen likes you. Can't say that for many people he's around, so consider yourself fortunate, and," he added leaning down to her face again as she pressed her back to the wall, "use it for your own benefit. Not many benefits around here, Inoue, so take what you can get."

He stepped back and walked down the hall.

Orihime felt her hopes drop, not only because he'd refused, but because she knew there was too much truth in his words.

He pointed down the hall behind her as she watched his back. "Down there," he called back, "and keep going left. You'll get back to where you should be."

She frowned, watching him leave. "Thank you," she said, knowing the echoing hall would carry her voice.

Grimmjow waved a hand, then disappeared around another corridor.

Orihime turned to look at the hall behind her, and then slowly headed in that direction.

A weak wave of embarrassment went through her at his refusal. It wasn't exactly unfriendly, she decided, but it was no help, either.

She looked down the long hall before her, mind flitting around thoughts of her second alternative.

She would need something with a very sharp cutting edge.


	5. Chapter 5

Orihime didn't have time to find anything suitable to slit her wrists or perform jigai. She knew it would probably be a sword, and so far, every sword she could think of was at the hip of Aizen or an Espada. And it wasn't that she'd entirely given up the idea; but Aizen kept her busy.

At first the practice set of kendo top and hakama pants of drab tan linen seemed harmless, but after she donned them at his request the next morning, he returned to her chambers.

For a moment she only stared back at him.

He was outfitted identical to her, gray pants and top tied at the waist with a black obi, albeit with a more masculine tailoring, but over it he also wore a long, black sleeveless kimono vest. It was similar to the sleeveless captains' coats she'd seen a few men wear in Soul Society, but it was without insignia. It was the first time she could remember seeing Aizen in anything not predominately white. Even his newest outfits were mostly white with black and maroon piping.

He smiled slowly at her, eyes drifting over the kendo top that clouded much of her curves. "I see you're ready. Shall we go to the field?"

Orihime had no desire to leave her bedroom suite. "I don't understand," she admitted, stepping back to the table as he entered the room and closed the door behind him. She saw his attention go to her hair. She put one hand to where it fell to her chest. "The attendants said these were for practice. What are we going to practice?"

He smiled wider, extending his hand to her. "Let's go outside."

Her eyes rose from his hand to his face. He had not met her breakfast that morning and she'd eaten alone in her room from the dishes the attendant had brought. "Outside?"

"Well, I suppose it's not really outside, not like you're used to," he said, his fingers curling, encouraging her forward. "But it's not _inside_. Come with me."

She took his hand.

Aizen led her through the confusing, twisting halls of the complex until they wound their way down to the main level that Orihime realized emptied to the courtyard. It was surrounded by Las Noches' walls, the disrepair of the battle-damaged area blocked off by stone lattice. She followed Aizen, her hand in his light hold. Her gaze went to the lattice where she could hear one of the Espada training with his troops.

The courtyard was still completely enclosed, either by the surrounding walls and buildings of rubble and the industrial-looking lattice. The ground was covered with short stubble that was gray-green, similar to grass, Orihime decided. A few columns rose in the milky-colored sunlight, which she knew was not really sunlight at all, and they cast tall, grayer shadows. She preferred the colorful mural of her room, even knowing it was artificial.

Aizen stopped them at one column where two bokken leaned. Orihime pulled her hand free and stopped in her tracks, eyes fastened on the practice weapons, and then going to Aizen as he turned.

"I told you you would get bored here in a week, Orihime," he said, reaching one hand into his pants pocket. He offered her a blue ribbon. "Tie your hair up. We're going to go through a few paces."

She took the ribbon, unsure as he turned back to the wooden swords. She absently pulled her hair back and tied it into a high ponytail.

He took both swords, holding each out to judge their weight and length, nodding. "I know you've grown bored already. Why else would you be seeking ways to leave here?"

Orihime's hands stopped as she tied the ribbon in a double bow. "Oh ... you know..." Her hands fell to her sides, trying to estimate his mood. "Jaegerjaquez-san told you?"

A rare look of surprise washed over Aizen's face. "Grimmjow? Hmm, I thought you would have asked Ulquiorra first." He flicked a bokken so that the handle pointed to her. "That must have been an interesting encounter. I advise against any such in the future, Orihime."

She swallowed some of her hesitation. "He didn't tell you?"

"No." He lifted the sword by its unsharpened edge, the hilt touching her hand. "Take it. No, Grimmjow said nothing of it; I knew you'd ask for help, but I thought you'd ask Ulquiorra."

Orihime's hand closed around the practice sword extended to her. Her thoughts had frozen at his mention of the Espada, but now her brain was beginning to warm again.

"Don't ask either of them for help, Orihime," Aizen said, this time in a lower tone that would not carry across the courtyard. "It's unwise. Now," he said, stepping back and taking a better grip with the bokken handle in his other hand, "let's see what you remember."

She looked from him to the sword in her hand. It was shaped like a katana, with a traditional samurai cord-wrapped tsuka of black and round cross-guard. The wooden blade was unedged, but with nearly the proper weapon's weight. Her hand tightened on it, and then, recalling some of the fights she'd seen – of the many she'd witnessed – she put both hands to the long handle.

Aizen smiled. "That's right. It's just a practice sword; no edge, and not quite the weight of a real sword." He circled to her left, keeping the distance between them. "A little sparring let's your worries out, Orihime," he told her, nothing in his tone to cause her fears to rise. "Raise your weapon, and take a swing at me."

She didn't move. The bokken handle was locked in her tight grip, but she couldn't make herself move. Not even to blink.

He smiled. "Come now. Nothing? With all the people you know who've wanted to fight me?" He let the edge of his sword tip her blade. "Take a swing."

She shook her head. "I don't want to fight you," she said, barely audibly.

"It's not a fight; nothing like a real fight," he said, chuckling. "Practice. A little exercise. Occupy your mind with your body, Orihime. You'll feel better. Take your mind off more harmful ideas."

This time she did blink. She shook her head, willing herself to turn to follow his movements a few steps to her left.

"I know you're not a fighter," he said, letting his blade lower, his head cocking to one side, watching her careful study of him. "I won't hurt you. You won't get hit; I promise you that. Don't be afraid to try it."

Orihime took a deep breath, letting one foot nudge to her side. "I don't practice with swords," she said. It was true. Tsubaki was as close as she got to fighting, and the battle sprite did _all_ of that. "Everyone tells me I'm not a fighter."

"We're not really fighting. It releases tension, and reorganizes allies."

Her eyes flicked to him.

Aizen let the edge of his blade lift hers. "You've seen it done. Some of your favorite friends didn't start out as friends. A little sparring realigns relationships. Half of Zaraki's friends are people he's beaten but not killed."

Now Orihime's hands tightened more on the sword hilt. He smiled at the gesture, seeing her posture ready.

"Good. Now, come at me like you want to strike me," he said.

It was a position anyone in Soul Society would have given their rank to have, and Orihime knew she was incapable of inflicting anything but a laugh from Sousuke Aizen.

She lunged at him, the bokken gripped fiercely in her hands, but when she swung it stiffly, she barely knocked the wooden blades together. Tapped would have been a better description of the touch.

He let her sword push his to the side, nodding. "Very good. Your first strike. Now, hit me like you know others have wanted to."

She made another equally ungainly swipe at him, wood meeting wood. The impact reverberated up the sword to her hands. She stepped back, looking at him, curiosity overwhelming her fears.

He saw it clearly in her eyes. "Put some determination into it, Orihime. You can't hurt me. Again!"

She swung the blade, this time a higher strike at his shoulder, which he blocked. She continued, half-hearted swings and swipes that had no drive behind them, only stiff movements because she was more afraid of not obeying him than of actually striking him.

"Keep one foot behind you for bracing and balance," he said as he easily knocked off her sword with his. She did and her next strike brought a loud cracking sound to the blades. "Much better."

Aizen let her beat him back a few steps, allowing her strikes to land, his blade catching the ones that went astray. After a moment her determination got the better of her, her focus on her tepid attack rather than who she was attacking.

Not that it was much of an attack, but one awkward strike landed. Genuinely landed.

Aizen caught it on his wrist.

It was a duller thud than when the wooden blades struck.

Orihime gasped, eyes widening on the back of his arm, and then going to his face. She stepped back, one hand dropping from the bokken as the air in her lungs emitted a squeak. She looked to his face, horrified.

Aizen's hand closed around her hand still on her sword hilt, a slow smile coming to his face as he read the sudden terror in hers. "Very good. I didn't expect that so soon."

"I'm sorry," she gushed. She covered her mouth with her fingers, shaking her head as he kept his hand on hers. "I didn't mean to, Aizen-sama! I'm sorry!"

He shook his head, fingers lacing over her hand on the sword hilt. "Barely a touch, Orihime. Very good."

She shook her head more forcefully, a combination of fear and disbelief welling in her as she watched his hand, readying for the moment his grip crushed her hold. "I didn't mean it."

"Of course you did," he said gently, pushing her hair from her face. She didn't see his smile, her eyes still fastened on their hands on the hilt. "That's the point of sparring; landing hits." His fingers stroked her hair over her shoulder, a few wisps having come loose from her ponytail. He touched the sole hairpin still remaining at her temple, curious. "I must say I'm surprised."

She looked up, finding amusement in his expression.

"No, you've never been a physical fighter, not even in the academy." His hand moved to her cheek, letting his thumb rub just under her eye. "Some things about you have not changed, Orihime." His gaze dropped to her lips, the slight catch in her breath as she leaned from him. "Shall we try another bout? Let you have another crack at me?"

She shook her head quickly, effectively pulling her face from his hand.

"Perhaps next time." He released her hand on the bokken hilt. He looked across the courtyard, sighing. "What else shall we do with this place?"

She gathered the sword close, following his gaze.

"The laboratory is working on life-like plants," he said, searching the perimeter of the enclosure. "They won't be real, of course, but they might give you the semblance of living plants." He turned, watching her eyes take in the courtyard. "Trees, flowers, maybe vegetables."

For a moment she tried to envision the plants in the yard. Las Noches had little color, and even less life, and trying to imagine both in the courtyard took a few minutes.

"Will they grow?" she finally asked, her gaze resting on the far perimeter where she knew one of the Espada was drilling his fraccíon.

"No."

She looked to Aizen.

"No, not really, truly grow," he added. "They'll give the impression of growing; the laboratory is working on that part right now. It's all in the engineering." He took her sword and set both of the practice weapons against the column. He turned her, his hand on the small of her back at the obi.

"I'm due at the lab now," he said, escorting her to the complex building. "They've made some progress with the Arrancar experiments. We'll continue our sparring another time."

She nodded, falling into step beside him, this time closer than most others. She sighed, partly to calm her breathing that had spiked during practice.

And from striking him.

She'd struck him. Aizen.

With a _fake_ sword, she reminded herself.

She looked up at him as they neared the tall building wall. It was mostly a blank wall, with a few windows, two of which were overhead now. She glanced to them, seeing one with a small balcony.

"That one is yours," he said, predicting her next question.

She slowed, studying the window. On the other side of it, she knew, in the interior, was the mural. The mirage.

"We could put a garden here," he said.

Her attention snapped back to him. She looked at his arm outstretched to his other side.

"You could see it from you window, when the mural is lowered," he said.

She nodded, feeling his hand slide up her back, his fingers catch the edges of her hair.

"Would you like that?"

She wasn't sure why she felt a smile forming at her lips. She allowed part of it. "Yes, Aizen-sama."

He smiled, this time a reaction to hers rather than in hopes of drawing one from her. "Good." He turned her to walk along the building side to where the entrance was located. "Now I'll return you to your rooms."

They entered the building and wove through the same corridors they'd taken to the courtyard. Orihime chanced a better look at his wrist. There was nothing. Not so much as a red mark where the wooden sword blade had landed. She bit her lower lip, conflicting thoughts chasing through her head.

He watched the slight turmoil in her face, seeing the confusion in her lowered lashes as her glance alternately shifted from his hand to the floor and back again. He let his hand ease to her side, fingers pressing at her ribs as she looked to him.

"Since we've _dueled_ this afternoon," he said, exaggerating the practice until she smiled, "I'll be in the lab for supper this evening. You may take your supper in your room, or the common room."

"The one attached to mine?"

He nodded.

She wasn't sure why she felt a twinge of something in the back of her mind.

"You may spend time there any time you like," he said as they turned a corner of the hall. "Day or night. It's never locked from your room. And," he continued, seeing the question forming in her face, "the outer door to the corridor is locked from inside. No one will come in and surprise or bother you."

She nodded.

He halted her at the door in the corridor she knew to be hers and opened it. "I suggest a nice bath and time to strategize for our next sparring session."

She hesitantly stepped into the room, turning to look back at him.

"I'll try to make time for you later," he promised, pausing in the doorway as her hands rested on her obi knot.

She wasn't sure why, but Orihime nodded.

Aizen left, closing the door behind him, and she turned into her rooms.

She'd already explored the set of rooms, dressed the bed and canopy with new fabric in her time there, and watched the mural in the balcony, looking for any slight movement.

There was none, and she knew the laboratory had not yet made the changes to include movement or an animal. She went to the facilities and leaned against the cool marble of the wall there. The bath was large, a sunken tub of pink and gray marble veined with streaks of white. She'd only dared one bath in the inset tub; it was quite intimidating, the sheer volume of water that it held. Plus, she felt a little guilty at leisurely soaking in it up to her chin, even as she sat on the step running around the sides. She glanced to the side near the faucets. It was slanted in to the water, unlike the step, and she had to admit she'd been tempted to slide down it once.

She didn't. That was childish. But still tempting.

This time she let the water run into it until full, her mind sifting through the day, the sparring practice, and the fact that she'd struck Sousuke Aizen.

Few could say that, and those that could were aware of the rarity.

Orihime chided herself and kneeled to feel the water. It was too warm, and she turned off one of the silver faucets and let the cooler spout run. The practice had distracted her from some of her earlier thoughts, but now alone in the spacious bathroom with only the sound of running water for company, they returned.

Her gaze dropped to her hand in the water, focusing on her wrist as the cooler water ran.

She hadn't gotten very far into those morbid thoughts when a faint knocking was heard at the outer door. She dried her arm on a thick lavender towel draped to one side of the chrome rack by the faucets and turned off the running water.

At the hall door was the taller attendant with her dinner tray. She took it and thanked her, and turned to look at her rooms.

For a moment the magnitude of staying hit Orihime again.

A slow trembling began in her stomach and welled through her.

"I can't," she whispered to no one.

A sudden sob caught her and she quickly set the tray on the table. She pulled back the cloth napkin covering the dishes. Beside the plate lay her chopsticks on a holder, and beside that, a metal knife.

She looked at it for a long moment, knowing it wasn't a very sharp knife, and then carefully pulled the napkin back over the tray.

Different thoughts buzzed through her head as she rose and went to the bathroom. She felt the water, finding it too hot still. She stood and took off the obi, pants and top, leaving them on the hook beside her house robe. She pulled it on, and then eased her hair out of the ribbon. She ran her fingers through the mussed strands, a few of her thoughts lingering in her mind.

It would be an easy way out of Las Noches, she knew. A few quick slits, deep enough to do the job.

The thought made her shudder.

She tightened the robe sash.

Maybe a last meal would give her the fortitude.

She went into the main room and took the tray, and then went into the common room. The pale green walls there were soothing, calming.

And seemed to argue against the thoughts forming in Orihime's head. She knelt at the table, eyes on the dull knife to the side of her plate. The light was low, and she didn't turn up the floor lamp against the far wall. The air was thick, stifling.

Remnants of Aizen, she thought.

She knew he could subdue his spiritual pressure – all the captains of Soul Society could, when they wished to – and she set aside the usual fears that came with his presence.

She took the knife, turning it so the blade caught the low light. For a long moment she watched it reflect, her mind turning into different directions. She wasn't sure she had the nerve, but she slipped it into her robe pocket.

"You're not taking that with you."

Orihime flinched at Aizen's voice. She quickly pivoted to see him sitting at the cushions against the side wall. He was shadowed, quiet.

"Aizen-sama..."

He stood and knelt at the table beside her, this time his spiritual presence flooding the room as she recoiled. He caught her arm, a firm hold that neither bruised nor let her move away.

"You're no fighter," he said, a somberness in his tone that made her feel guilty to look fully at him. "A knife is a close contact weapon. So taking this," he said, reaching into her robe pocket and taking the cutlery, "must have another purpose."

She looked sheepishly to the knife, forcing back a sudden urge to weep. She shook her head, gaze dropping to the floor.

Aizen pulled her closer, a movement that overpowered her feeble attempt at resistance. It wasn't much of a struggle, either. She let herself fold into his arms, the tears beginning a timid trek down her cheeks. He settled her closer, his arms surrounding her until her forehead was against his chest.

"First, I think you should know what happens to a Living soul that dies in Hueco Mundo," he said gravely into her hair. "It doesn't leave. It remains imprisoned here. There are no shinigami here to assist in helping it along to Soul Society," he reminded, one hand stroking her long hair down her back as her muted sobs pressed to his chest. "The soul stays here and becomes a Hollow."

Orihime squeezed her eyes shut, trying to press the tears back into her eyes. She shook her head, conscious of his embrace and the deep tone of his voice as she leaned to his chest.

"You don't want that," he said, hearing her sniffle.

She shook her head, pulling back enough to wipe her face with the back of her sleeve.

He titled her chin up, making her reluctantly look at him.

"There is little in the Living or shinigami psyche I have not studied," he told her in a low tone, seeing the tremble at her lips as she refused her tears. His arm lowered to her waist, his fingers turning her chin to study her eyes in the dim lighting. "Promise me no more foolishness."

Orihime swallowed slowly, gazing back at him, realizing that mesmerizing must be done in any number of ways. She nodded.

His hand at her chin titled her face higher. "A real promise, Orihime?"

She nodded, and then closed her eyes as he let her head lower. She felt him kiss the top of her hair, a slow touch that was only that. Nothing more.

She looked down, realizing she'd clutched his shirt in both hands. He'd changed, back in his usual white clothes, and she wondered if he'd gone to the laboratory at all.

She carefully released his shirt, smoothing some of the tight wrinkles before sitting back.

Aizen let her go, pushing a wave of auburn hair from her damp face. "Now eat your supper and have your bath. You need your rest, Orihime."

She nodded as he stood, still kneeling at the table.

"I'll see you in the morning."

She looked up, far up at him. She knew she was a pitiable sight, a silly, foolish girl playing at dramatics when he'd out-maneuvered the best minds of Soul Society.

He leaned down and set the knife of the table beside her tray. "Because I trust you to be smart about this," he said, his fingers grazing her cheek for a moment, "and because you promised me."

She nodded, watching his hand.

"Goodnight."

She sighed. "Goodnight, Aizen-sama."

She watched him leave out the door to the hall, hearing the click of the lock behind him.

For a moment she sat in the dim light, gaze unfocused on her plate. And the knife.

A shallower sigh escaped her, and then she turned to the table, too numb to think.


	6. Chapter 6

Orihime's attempt to lift the knife from the common room played on Aizen's mind over the next few days. Suicide was not the affect he wanted to have on her. He gave her a little room, a little space and time away from him. It tore at him to do so, but he believed that, in the end, it would matter more greatly than forcing her feelings.

He spent the majority of the next three days in the laboratory, overseeing progress the head technician was making with his most recent gadgets. It wasn't Szayel, or even a clever reproduction of the previous researcher. The manufactured Arrancar now in charge of the lab was a creation of Szayel's – not too clever – and not too resourceful about some things either, Aizen was learning.

He stood in the immaculate laboratory with the three researchers, the head one simply called the Technician, and studied the progress.

The progress lay on the table of the lab, surrounded by spare parts and dashed hopes. Aizen looked at the small, winged creature, and then to the Technician. "This is a hummingbird?"

The Technician was bald, but not in a becoming way, as Ikkaku had been. He was simply bald with a slightly misshapen skull and a gray scalp where Szayel had made repairs a few times. He nodded as he and Aizen looked at the small birdlike creation.

Aizen sighed. "This is the best you can do?"

The Technician's expression changed only minutely. He was more accustomed to Aizen's orders to remove difficulties from Arrancar composition, not create something akin to beauty. There had been a lot of such orders lately, ever since _she_ had arrived. He'd yet to see the Living girl, but she had increased his workload. It didn't help that Aizen was always looking over his shoulder, either. "Yes, Aizen-sama."

Aizen nodded slowly. "If you had more direction," he posed, inspecting the anemic-looking small bird more thoroughly, "could you improve upon this prototype?"

The Technician's expression turned miffed, just slightly, but he nodded. "I believe any more information would be helpful, Aizen-sama." He brightened a bit. "We've made more progress with the other experiments."

Aizen glanced to the next chamber of the room. It was divided by a thick pane of glass laced with spirit-cutting particles. Behind it were three slouching Arrancar, each in the final stages of being broken. Aizen gave them a dismissive look. The strongest he did not break; he sent those for training with the remaining Espada.

The Technician gestured to another door in the starkly white and chrome room. "The other experiment, Aizen-sama."

Aizen looked there. His interests had shifted since the War, but old habits died slowly, even without the Hyogoku's influence. He nodded. "Show me."

The lab's door to the outside hall opened and Ulquiorra stepped in, looking around with mild curiosity. He passed the lab table, giving the small birdlike figure a glance, and went to where Aizen and the Technician stood.

"Grimmjow said you wanted to speak to me, Aizen-sama," he said.

"Yes, I've a particular task for you," Aizen said. "It involves a definite delicacy Grimmjow usually lacks, and you have something of a rapport with Orihime."

For a moment Ulquiorra simply stared back at him, uncertainty eclipsing his usual staidness.

Aizen studied him. "I think perhaps a variety of familiar faces may help more than exclusivity right now."

"I don't think I understand," Ulquiorra said slowly. "Not fully."

Aizen nodded.

* * *

><p>Fifteen minutes later Orihime found Ulquiorra at the door to her room. She'd expected Aizen, as he indicated earlier when they'd met briefly for tea that morning, but she was pleased to see Ulquiorra. She hadn't been too pleased to see him at her apartment nearly two weeks ago, but part of that was the suddenness of his visit.<p>

The rest was that he'd confiscated her fighting sprite hair pin and taken her back to Las Noches. But that was not his choice, and she knew it.

He glanced over her tan practice clothes. "Aizen-sama has sent me to see to your sparring this morning."

"Oh..." Orihime looked beyond him into the hall. It was empty. She bit her lower lip, waiting for him to say anything else. "Is he angry with me?"

Ulquiorra frowned. "I don't think so. Have you done something to upset him?"

Actually, she figured she had a list of upsetting things she'd inadvertently done to disappoint Aizen. She didn't voice any of them. "...No."

"Are you ready to go out?"

She nodded. He looked no different to her, dressed in the same white and black uniform he'd worn since she'd returned. "I'm to spar with you?"

He nodded. "It will not be real, you understand."

She smiled a little. "I understand."

Orihime understood sparring was just that; what was beginning to bother her was the fact that Aizen had turned over their practice session to someone else. Not that she wanted his company on the battlefield, even a practice one, she reminded herself, but since her little incident in the common room, he'd been scarcer around her.

She frowned as she followed Ulquiorra out of the courtyard doors and onto the artificial grass. He led them to the familiar pillar area under the milky bright sky to where she'd had the previous session with Aizen. The two bokken were already waiting at the column. So was Grimmjow.

Orihime frowned, her discomfort inching up a notch. Her steps slowed, and Ulquiorra advanced a few paces ahead of her. She quickened her feet, returning a timid look for the grin on Grimmjow's face.

"This doesn't concern you," Ulquiorra said to the other Espada. "Aizen-sama has placed Inoue-chan in my care for –"

"I know that," Grimmjow said. He let a slow scrutiny go over Orihime from foot to ponytail, chuckling at her practice attire. He glanced back to Ulquiorra. "Considering she didn't fare so well last time she _sparred_ with Loly and Menoly, I figured I'd be here. And," he said, grinning more as Orihime recalled his intervention on her behalf from the female Arrancar attack, "if there's a chance she's gonna take another swipe at you, Schiffer, I want to see _that_, too."

Ulquiorra frowned as Grimmjow laughed, the Sexta's attention going to Orihime's blush at the memory of her slap at her former room during the War. Ulquiorra picked up both bokken. "This still is no concern of yours," he told Grimmjow.

"Or maybe Aizen knows you're not qualified to train your own fraccíon," Grimmjow decided, grinning at Orihime. "Maybe a timid Living girl is more your speed."

She looked to the bokken Ulquiorra held, seeing his grip tightening around both hilts.

"Better watch it," Grimmjow said as he sat down near the column, "she may not be as timid as she looks, Schiffer."

Ulquiorra turned to Orihime. "Ignore him. He's sorry the War is over and he has fewer opponents to fight." He handed her one of the wooden sword. "Not that he won most of those battles..."

Orihime shot a glance to Grimmjow as Ulquiorra said it, but Grimmjow wasn't looking at her.

"At least I was intact at the end of the War," Grimmjow mumbled. "Unlike _some_ piles of dust."

Ulquiorra stepped a few feet away from Grimmjow and took Orihime with him. "How far did Aizen-sama get in your tutelage?"

"Oh, I don't think he's really teaching me to fight," she said, making an effort at ignoring Grimmjow's attention. "I think it's just a pastime. For him."

"I see." It was clear Ulquiorra wasn't certain what sort of pastime the sparring was meant to be, but he didn't press the issue. He stepped back from her, seeming to be at a loss for the first action. "You may begin."

"That's no way to begin a practice," Grimmjow said.

"If you don't like it, then leave." Ulquiorra didn't look to him, instead holding his bokken to one side, leaving himself wide open for Orihime's attack.

She frowned, the mild heat of the day seeming to magnify on her. She took the hilt with both hands, looking from Ulquiorra's casual stance to the space between them. He had one hand in his pocket, one on the sword; clearly he wasn't expecting any confrontation.

She'd resisted practicing with Aizen and it had gotten her nowhere, and she figured it would be the same with Ulquiorra. Her fingers flexed around the hilt, and then she stepped forward, bringing the blade in an awkward swipe at Ulquiorra's weapon.

It effectively smacked the lowered blade and he lifted it just enough to intercept.

He nodded. "Good. Continue."

Grimmjow made a groan of wining chuckle, but neither combatant looked to him.

Orihime made another half-hearted movement, this time catching Ulquiorra's blade higher as he lifted it. He nodded. "You're –"

"What the hell's wrong with you?" Grimmjow barked at Ulquiorra. "Lift your sword! Give her something to aim at!"

Orihime cast him a nervous glance, and then watched as Ulquiorra raised the sword to chest level, extended before him.

"I won't strike you," he told her. "You may strike harder, Inoue-chan."

"Okay." She brought the sword down on his blade again, a resounding smack that landed solidly. She had no fear of hitting him, not with the bokken extended as it was. She made a few more strikes, each landing center on the wooden blade.

"Very good," Ulquiorra said, stepping to one side, angling the sword only slightly.

"Very good?" Grimmjow mocked. "You might as well be a post, Schiffer. Move around some." He looked to Orihime. "Hit him in the chest."

She lowered her sword. "Oh, no. I can't do that."

"You won't do that; he'll move out of the way," Grimmjow said, getting to his feet. "At least try to strike him in the chest. Or face." He nodded to Ulquiorra. "Aim for that whole in his neck."

Orihime backed up at the command, shaking her head.

"This is not your session," Ulquiorra told Grimmjow. "Go train your own fraccíon."

Grimmjow gestured to Orihime, but he was looking at Ulquiorra. "You know you're not doing it right. Tell her to really hit you."

Ulquiorra looked to her. Orihime shook her head.

"Why not?" Grimmjow demanded of her. "Afraid of knocking the lines off his face? What's wrong with you? You've seen fights. Hit him where it matters!"

She shook her head, stepping back as Grimmjow glared at her. "But I ... I can't –"

"You ever see opponents aiming for each other's weapons? No. Stop chasing his sword around and aim at _him_," he said.

"I don't want to hit him," she managed, glancing from him to Ulquiorra. "I don't want to hit anyone." Her sword lowered. "It's just practice."

In a quick movement, Grimmjow grabbed the bokken from Ulquiorra and stepped between them. He faced Orihime with a grin, the bokken tight in his large hand. "Now hit _me_, girl."

Ulquiorra drew his sword from his side, a sound that made Grimmjow step back and look to him.

"Leave her alone, Grimmjow," he said, his sword lowered, but this time with a different intent than the bokken had been.

"Put that away; this is practice, remember?" Grimmjow's defenses spiked despite the wooden sword in his hand. His gaze stayed on Ulquiorra. "I ain't taking a swing at her, Schiffer, but you need to liven up your instruction." He looked back to Orihime, his grin turning less severe. "Come on!"

Something in his tone spurred Orihime to action. Ulquiorra still stood to their side, his very real sword drawn, which lent her a shade of confidence she wouldn't have otherwise had. She brought the bokken blade across the one Grimmjow held lowered to his side, a crack that echoed sharply across the courtyard.

He grinned wider, stepping back, raising the bokken slightly, his other hand beckoning her again. "Come on, girl. Something bigger!"

She followed through with another blow, and then another, each landing mid-blade, each bringing a grunt from her. She didn't realize each was also higher as Grimmjow progressively held the blade angled closer to himself, until the last blow made her raise the bokken over her head.

Her blade smacked at the opposite bokken, catching Grimmjow's near his collarbone. He grabbed the blade at the cross point, not letting her step away with it.

She stared back at him, suddenly aware she was too close, and far more engaged in the sparring than she planned.

He grinned down at her. "You're leaving yourself wide open," he said, nodding at her extended arms as she tried to tug the blade out of his hand.

"...You're taller," she said, realizing she was slightly breathless. "I had to."

He nodded, glancing to Ulquiorra, who was still watching the exchange, his hand tight on his sword.

"You've made your point, Grimmjow," Ulquiorra said. "Unhand her."

Grimmjow released the bokken blade and Orihime stepped back, lowering it. She pushed her hair from her face, feeling her cheeks warm and pink. She straightened her kendo shirt, eyes on Ulquiorra.

He was still looking at Grimmjow.

Grimmjow tossed him the bokken, still aware of the sword in the other Espada's hand. "If you're going to train her, at least do it right." He gave Orihime a brief glimpse. "Aizen expects that much out of you," he told Ulquiorra.

She caught her breath slowly, watching Ulquiorra, and then looked back down to the bokken.

Grimmjow snorted a scoff. "What are you so damn sad-faced about? Still don't want to be here?" Before she could answer, he continued. "Last time you were all so eager to come here. What the hell's the difference this time?"

Her hand tightened on the sword hilt, frowning at him even as she hoped he wouldn't divulge his refused proposal to take her home. "I wanted to protect my friends last time," she said as stoutly as she could muster, still flushed from the practice.

Ulquiorra's eyes widened slightly with guilt.

Grimmjow seemed surprised by her tone. "That's it?"

She nodded.

"You think it was your choice last time?"

Ulquiorra shifted a look between them.

"I agreed last time," she said, her voice losing some of its force. "I didn't have a choice this time."

A laugh burst out of Grimmjow, which was matched by a dark look from Ulquiorra.

"You believed you had a choice? That's what he told you, so you believed it?" He sent Ulquiorra caustic glance. "You were so smart to make her think she had a choice in the matter that she actually thought she made a decision!" He shook his head, chuckling as he glanced back to Orihime. "You saved your friends, who came to rescue you anyway. You don't want to be here now, but since you are, Aizen's been too preoccupied to think of revenge or battle. It achieves the same end."

"But he said he didn't want another war," she said in a bolder tone. She looked quickly to Ulquiorra. "He said –"

"He doesn't," Ulquiorra said to her, but sent a cautionary glance to Grimmjow. "You know he has no plans for a war of any sort. Why are you frightening her?"

"I'm not." Grimmjow gave him a growl. "Look, she's here and Aizen's too preoccupied to want another war." He looked back to her. "Guess you've still accomplished your objective of protecting your friends anyway, Inoue," he said with a chuckle. "That should cheer you up."

For a moment she frowned at him, sorting through his words carefully, her fears of him outing her request to be taken back to the Living World falling away.

Grimmjow gave Ulquiorra a sharper look, seeing the sword still in the higher ranked Espada's hand. "You gonna use that on her for practice?"

Ulquiorra immediately sheathed the sword. He was about to speak when a wave of powerful reiatsu washed over the courtyard. All three looked to the walled perimeter in the direction of the invasion. Nothing was to be seen over the crumbling exterior wall, but Orihime could feel it. Something unfamiliar, thick, powerful.

Ulquiorra's hand closed on her arm. "I'll take you to your room."

His eyes were still on the wall, and she turned to walk ahead of him to the compound door. Behind them Grimmjow was already leaving to investigate, springing from the courtyard without speaking.

Within moments Orihime was back in her rooms, Ulquiorra returning to the exterior to follow up on the disturbance.

* * *

><p>Orihime learned nothing of the strange reiatsu flux even by that evening. She'd had her lunch alone in the common room, and her bath in her private quarters, her mind still volleying between several avenues of thoughts as she soaked in the large tub. Her brief bout with Grimmjow hadn't left her tired or sore, but she had sour thoughts of the sparring match.<p>

Not so much the physicality of it; she'd found no issue with attempting to hit him.

After the bath, she dressed in the water blue kimono with the pink and white flowers, tying the sash as her hair dried that evening. The more she thought about what he'd said, the less she liked most of it. But there were a few points that she couldn't ignore.

She sat on the bench at the small mirrored dressing table and looked at herself in the dim light. She picked up the brush, absently pulling it through her damp hair as her mind went back to the afternoon. Yes, Aizen had said he was making time for her – until recently – away from the lab, and yes, she knew he had experiments there.

She didn't know what kind of experiments, something with Hollows, she assumed, but that was all she knew. Both Aizen and Ulquiorra said there was to be no war. Orihime didn't like replaying Grimmjow's words back through her mind, but she let them.

Among the barbs he'd thrown at Ulquiorra, there were a few bits of information she gleaned. Time Aizen spent with her was time away from the lab; that was good, she decided, even if it meant more time for her with him. And any less time in the lab was less time he could spend on what had – in the past – been plans for war with Soul Society, and ultimately, war against her friends.

She frowned at herself, not seeing her reflection, not liking the conclusions to her equation. Maybe she hadn't really had a choice but to accompany Ulquiorra the first time to Hueco Mundo, but she thought she had. That mattered to her. Her mind twisted through lanes of feelings in her head, pushing away her usual thoughts. She was still separating some of those ideas when she heard a soft knocking at the door to the common room.

She went there, wondering if one of her attendants was waiting. She opened it enough to see Aizen looking back at her.

He smiled, nodding in approval on her kimono. "Come in here, Orihime. I've something to show you."

A ripple of relief passed over her as she stepped into the common room, along with confusion on why it would. He wasn't angry with her, she decided, sitting with him at the low table where last she'd committed her silly attempt at taking the knife. Her gaze dropped to the pale blue sheet near the table by their cushions.

"I've been neglecting you," he said, settling beside her, one arm on the table where a small object lay. "I need your opinion on something. The lab is sorely lacking in practical knowledge of Living things."

The room was dimly lit, as usual in the evening, and the fern green walls appeared more an olive color. Orihime looked down at the table as he fingered the object.

It was small, with a bulbous body covered with a fine feathery layer, and a long narrow protrusion at one end and small wings to either side.

She smiled, delight overtaking her usual trepidation. "Oh! A dragonfly!" She leaned closer as he lifted it for her to see better.

Aizen's face fell as he sighed. "That's what I was afraid of."

Orihime's attention went to him quickly. "You? Afraid?"

He smiled more. "Not that sort of afraid, Orihime. This," he said, taking her hand and setting the winged object carefully in her palm, "is supposed to be a hummingbird."

"A...a hummingbird? Oh." She looked closer at it; it was no hummingbird.

He turned it around and tilted the beak-or-tail protrusion up. "Yes. My lab researchers are not familiar with, well, much in the Living world. I described to them a hummingbird, and this is what they created." He watched her finger softly stroke the back of the insect-bird. "It's a prototype of future projects. They got it wrong."

"Hmm, yes," she said, lifting the bird higher. It had the general appearance of either bird or dragonfly, but would be mistaken for neither. She looked slowly to him, hoping. "This is your experiment in the laboratory?"

"One of them."

Orihime had hoped for a different answer. She carefully set the item on the table. "And the Hollow physiology?"

He nodded, looking to each of her eyes. "That, too."

She let her gaze go back to the birdlike object.

"It doesn't look much like a hummingbird," he said, his tone taking a different lilt.

"No," she agreed, but then added, "but it's a good start." She looked up, detecting the shift in his voice. "Isn't it?"

He nodded. To their side he pulled back the sheet lying on the floor. Below it laid his zanpakutou. Orihime caught her breath sharply, inching away as he took her hand nearest the sword.

"My former lieutenant spent several decades trying to learn how to circumvent my zanpakutou's abilities," he said mildly, feeling her wrist tense in his hand, watching the fear slip over her face. His thumb rubbed gently across her skin, and Orihime found her fingers relaxing slightly. "Kyouka Suigetsu's power is annulled by touching the blade. Any illusion I create dissolves." He looked down at her wrist in his hand. "What's left is the truth."

Orihime tried to pull her hand away, eyes darting to the sword. "Is, is there illusion here?" The words caught in her throat, fearing the answer. "Is ... am ..."

He smiled, not the sharp smile of a ruler nor the easy smile of the shinigami captain he'd presented to Soul Society. A different type, for her. He moved her hand palm down to the sword's blade, just at the midpoint at the flat side of metal. He could feel the increase in her resistance, but he forced her hand those last few inches to the blade. "Illusion is impossible once you've realized, Orihime."

She wasn't sure what to expect. A stinging, or burning sensation, maybe even electricity from the blade. But there was none. Mere metal, probably high-carbon or stainless, if she'd asked a sword smith or metallurgist. Probably something different, in the spiritual realm, she thought.

She looked down at it, at her fingers on the blade, Aizen's pressing hold. She looked back to him.

He looked the same, his hair slightly askew from the usual slicked-back manner that she'd seen on her previous, pre-War visit to Las Noches. He was still wearing his black and white clothing as before.

"Does anything look different to you, Orihime?"

His tone was the same, that mesmerizing quality that she realized was simply something he did when he chose to; nothing to do with Kyouka Suigetsu. She shook her head.

He chuckled. "You haven't looked at anything."

"Oh." She gave a quick glance around the room, seeing nothing different, and then looked to the object on the table the laboratory had created. It was still neither bird nor insect, neither a fully developed hummingbird nor leaner looking dragonfly. In fact, it looked a bit more hideous. Her fingers curled away from the blade, an unconscious movement she didn't notice until Aizen's hand took hers into his. "The bird thing. It's not quite so..." she hesitated, frowning at the object, "well done."

He nodded. "No. I was hoping you would like it more if it appeared more recognizable."

She looked to him fully now. "You made it appear that way?"

"Yes."

She felt a faint flush over her cheeks, which she blamed on her recent bath. She looked to her hand as he lifted it, seeming to inspect her wrist.

"Would you prefer the lab create a dragonfly or hummingbird?"

She smiled, returning his rapt attention. "A hummingbird."

He nodded, and then brought her hand closer, turning it as he bent to kiss the inside of her wrist.

Orihime shook her head, but words failed her. She only saw the top of his head as he kissed her skin, feeling his lips move slowly along her flesh. Her pulse pricked beneath her skin as his lips brushed her arm, pausing where the kimono's wide white trim edged her sleeve.

She shook her head again, a different sort of desperation gripping her. "I ... it's ..." She put a hand to his shoulder, but didn't push him away, and then let her fingers move to his neck, pausing at the brown hair that fell to his collar there.

"Sousuke," she said without thinking, shaking her head as her breath seeming suddenly to fail her.

He did look at her now, keeping her wrist in his grip, feeling the very vibrant beating of her pulse there. This time his smile was less, his focus on her enormous violet-gray eyes that admitted every emotion she was trying to keep conceal. His other hand rested on hers at his neck.

"I mean, I ... meant..."

"Is that a memory, Orihime?"

She looked down, seeing now that her knees were touching his thigh, a far too close proximity. She didn't move away, looking sheepishly to him. He was still near, barely inches from her face, something familiar about the scent pervading him.

"No," she finally said. "It can't be. It was... I misspoke, Aizen-sama. I'm sorry."

He kept her hand at his shoulder when she tried to move it away, watching for a long moment as she would glance at him briefly only to let her gaze drop, to rest on her knees again, and then hesitantly look to him again and repeat the pattern.

"I'll tell you what, Orihime," he said lowly, letting her hand move from his shoulder to the table, still clasped in his. "We'll make it a bird. A hummingbird."

She looked up quickly, emotionally grasping at the frail strand of anything less than awkward. "A, a hummingbird?" She swallowed quickly, her throat dry, pulse still pounding beneath his hand on her wrist.

He nodded, looking to each of her eyes at the embarrassment there. "A hummingbird." He let her turn to the table, releasing her wrist, his hand move to her back in a light touch.

She made herself look at the created bird, blinking at it several times. "...Okay."

"Good."

There was a knock at the door to the hall, followed by one of her attendants calling out.

She looked to him, her mind buzzing with assorted mistakes she'd made over the last thirty seconds.

"One of your attendants," he said, watching her eyes. "Have you given them names yet?"

"No. But I will." Orihime surprised herself with the few words.

"Good. And I do," he said leaning to her ear, bringing with the movement a short quickening of her heartbeat, "prefer you use Sousuke."

Aizen stood to open the door.

Orihime watched the bird before her on the table, this time her mind numbing for other reasons.

How could she have dared call him Sousuke?

* * *

><p><strong>Author's Note:<strong> _Rating will change to M for sexual content within the next two chapters. Thanks for reading!_


	7. Chapter 7

Orihime dreamed that night of fields of flowers and tall trees she didn't remember ever seeing. She was with her brother, wandering the sunny summer meadow, smiling at the beautiful day. The sun was warm on her shoulders, her face, and she was happier than she had been in a very long time.

But as she turned to where she knew her brother was catching up with her in the field, it wasn't Sora behind her.

"_Hurry_," she urged him.

It was that moment that Orihime woke up from what had been a pleasant dream. Pleasant, she thought, rubbing her face with her hands as she sat up in the big bed in her Las Noches' room, until she'd seen the face of her companion.

How Aizen had gotten into her dreams without making them nightmares was beyond her. It shouldn't have been possible.

But there he was, catching up with her in the field, smiling at her with what she could only call a genuine smile. And she had smiled back, as if expecting him to be there, not finding him out of place at all. And more oddly, he was in his shinigami robes.

She rubbed her face vigorously with her hands in the darkened room. All the hints he told her, the small seeds planted into her thoughts that they had a past together – they were taking hold, rooting, sprouting and growing into bigger _things_. That's what it was, she told herself.

She threw back the bedclothes and stood. Yes, he was – at times – unlike the monster that had waged war on her and her friends, but he was still the same man.

She didn't want to sort through the dream. Instead she quickly dressed in the pale pink kimono with the white edged sleeves and yellow and rose-colored stitched flowers. She paused as she finished tying the sash. It was a new one and one end was embroidered with a small brown and red hummingbird. She pulled it closer to see it better. The stitching was fine and even, the bird hovering over a carnation pink flower. She found herself smiling. Someone had gotten the hummingbird right at Las Noches.

A knock at the door to the hall got her attention and she opened it to see her attendants.

The taller one bowed. "You are awake," she said. "Would you like tea now?"

Orihime looked to the shorter one. "Is it late?"

The two attendants both blinked. "Why, yes," they said in unison.

"You were tired, so Aizen-sama told us to let you sleep today," the shorter one added.

"Oh, I'm sorry," Orihime said, looking down the hall to see if anyone else had noticed her late start to the day. "Is Aizen-sama angry with me?"

They both shook their heads. "No."

She sighed. "Yes, tea is fine."

"Would you like a meal now?" the taller one asked, predicting the shorter was about to.

"Oh, yes, please." Orihime nodded, her stomach beginning to wake up now.

* * *

><p>It was actually much later than Orihime thought it would be. It was difficult to tell how the days transpired in Las Noches, with the bright spot in the sky shading over in milky tones, with no real semblance of late and early. Orihime ate her rice and vegetables alone in her room and then went for a short walk in the corridors of the wing she knew she was allowed to wander.<p>

Actually, Grimmjow had helped her set those parameters. She didn't want to get lost again. She saw brief glimpses of Ulquiorra, who only gave her a spare look before moving on, and a few of the lower ranked servile Arrancar moving among the halls. She didn't even quite know where she going, just out to get a bit of exercise. She finally ended up back at her room, and was at once both glad to find it, but still a little bored. She didn't want to think.

She went first to her room, and then to the common room beside it. If the laboratory indeed wanted to create a hummingbird, she thought, maybe she could help them visualize one. The room was dimly lit, a deeper shade of green on the walls, and Orihime looked again to the far wall, still expecting a balcony or window to be there. She looked around, hoping to find something, anything, to use to sketch a hummingbird. If she could use the one on her sash as a guide, maybe she could help the lab render something less dragonfly-looking in their next prototype.

She sighed, finding nothing of use in the room. She was about to find one of the attendants to make her request, but then she noticed something unusual.

The door to the opposite wall from her room, across the small common room, was ajar. Orihime stared at it for a moment. She'd always known it was a door, but never seen it open.

She stepped to it quietly, holding her hair back as she leaned to peek inside. It was only open a few inches, and inside the light was a little brighter, warmly inviting. She nearly gasped, her fingers covering her mouth as she got a better look.

Aizen knelt at a low table against the wall inside, his back to her. He was working at something Orihime couldn't see on the table, his head bowed over it.

She blinked quickly, and then looked around the room. The walls were a pewter-blue color, trimmed with brown frames, and the rice-paper divider beyond the low table didn't quite hide the large bed dressed in tan and white sheets. She could smell water from further inside – bath water, she realized – and on the table before Aizen a large tea pot was steaming.

She watched him lean over the table, her eyes moving across his shoulders as he moved, imagining the broad muscles that were beneath the brown kimono he wore. His hair fell just to the nape of the collar, kept now in a slightly less neatly combed style than when she'd seen him during the War.

She bit her lower, trying to cancel her thoughts, hoping to ease away before he could see her.

"You may come in, Orihime," Aizen said as she held her breath. He turned to see her, smiling at her. He extended one arm. "Come. Tell me what I'm doing wrong here."

Orihime hesitated, knowing her choices weren't really hers. "I didn't, didn't know you were in here."

She slowly crossed the room to where he knelt at the table. He was dressed in the brown kimono, the front of it mostly open and belted loosely at his waist by the obi.

He pulled a cushion closer to him at his side. "Sit down."

She carefully knelt beside him, crooking her legs to her side, away from him. "You... This is your room?"

He smiled wider, chuckling. "Yes. This is my room. I was hoping you'd find it quicker." His fingers pushed a few strands of hair from her face so he could see her large, startled eyes better. "Did you sleep well?"

She nodded. "I didn't know you were so close," she said without thinking. "Oh, I meant... I mean –"

"I think that's exactly what you meant, Orihime." His attention went to the table. On it was a sheet of parchment beside several bottles of ink and a stylus. The parchment was blank. "I've not kept up with my writing," he said, sighing, watching her look to the blank sheet. "I think the desire is gone. I once enjoyed writing."

"Oh, perhaps it will come back to you," she said, looking at the bottles of ink, some colored, by the stylus.

"In the meantime," he said, taking the sash end that was on her bent knee, "maybe you can find some inspiration for our laboratory." His fingers found the hummingbird on the tie. "Can you draw, Orihime?"

She shook her head, although that was exactly what she had planned to attempt.

He smiled, fingering the sash. "Maybe a little?"

Her gaze dropped to the sash end. "Do you think...?" she stopped, shoving the remnants of the dream as far away as possible. If she was going to ask anyone, it was not going to be him, she decided. But then who?

"Think what, Orihime?"

He turned to her, letting the sash drop to instead take her hand on her leg. She looked down to his fingers tenderly grasping hers. For some reason, there was no recoil, no automatic impulse to pull her hand away. In fact, she realized, his fingers felt natural on hers. Her eyes rose to his, seeing something in their brown depths that she was certain hadn't been there before.

Ever.

Never had he looked at her as he did now, she thought; or, maybe it was the first time she remembered it. She closed her eyes, sighing. "Do you think dreams can be past memories?" She looked to him slowly, hoping she wasn't nearing something she wasn't supposed to touch. "It is possible? Sousuke."

He smiled, this time in a different manner she'd ever seen. Something beckoning, irresistible in his face, calming and natural; something intangible that Orihime didn't have the capacity to clarify.

"I believe it's possible, yes," he said. "Dreams can be made up of things we fear, that we push off so we don't think about them." He let the fingers of his other hand touch just below her chin, silently admiring the spark that leapt to her eyes. "Or things we wish for, or can't remember in our waking hours."

She nodded slightly, watching his lips as he leaned to her, feeling his fingers slide to the back of her neck beneath her hair. She wasn't aware that he pulled her so close, only feeling his arm around her, holding her tight to his chest, and his lips firmly on hers. She kissed him back, unpracticed and quickly, slipping her hand from his to put against his shoulder.

She eased back, looking to him with wide eyes, shocked at her own reaction. She shook her head, but his arm at her back braced tighter. "I don't... I'm not..."

He remained near, the scent of her hair welling memories in his little-used past. "You're here now, Orihime," he said lowly, kissing the corner of her mouth. "We've been here before."

She wanted to tell him that he was mistaken, that it wasn't her, but his lips moved to hers fully again, and she didn't care if it had been her with him before or not. She kissed him back, feeling the flutter inside her answering his hands drawing up her back. She moved her knee to settle closer, letting both arms go around his waist, his warm lips hard on hers, drawing out a different compliance.

Her arms tightened instinctively, her breath quickening as he pulled her nearly onto his lap. It was only the third knock at the hall door that broke their collective concentration.

Aizen let her ease back a bit, watching her eyes, a smoky amethyst overcoming the hazel in them as she remained close, her heart pounding against his chest.

Someone cleared their throat from the other side of the door. Another knock sounded.

He let her sit back, studying her face as Orihime felt the blush slip over her cheeks and to her throat. He smiled and bent, kissing her neck softly, a slow warm trail of light touches that ended at her lips. She wasn't sure when her eyes had closed, but when she opened them, he was close again.

"I hate to leave you at this moment," he said, letting one hand move to the back of her neck, fingers moving into her hair. "But I have a few issues at the laboratory."

"Now?" she asked. She flinched emotionally.

He grinned, reading the expectancy in her face. "This is not something I can let wait."

Her arms lowered behind his back, still around him. "You can't?"

For a moment something different crossed his face; little came between Aizen and matters in the laboratory, and it was a very long time since anything had tempted that schedule.

"Okay," she said, leaning back some, realizing she was still very close, and waiting. She took a deep breath in the confines of his arms. She couldn't wade through the odd and contrasting emotions vying with everything she knew about Sousuke Aizen. She also knew she didn't want him to leave.

She sat back as he let her move. For a moment he looked to each of her eyes, reading what he thought was behind them.

Then he stood up and bent to lift her face to him. He kissed her on the lips, quickly, and then nodded to the paper.

She looked to it, staring blankly at the blank parchment.

"I hate to leave at this moment, Orihime," he said.

She watched him move to the other side of the rice-paper divider. He reappeared a moment later in his usual white and gray clothes.

"You're free to stay here, but I won't be back for a long while." He gestured to the divider. "You can sleep, if you get tired."

"Oh! Oh, I... I'm..." Orihime looked to the divider as her words stalled, as did most of her thoughts. She looked back to him. "Thank you. Sousuke."

He smiled, and then went out the door where the knocking had come, into the hall. Orihime didn't see who had summoned him.

She turned back to the low table, her heart still racing. She didn't believe in memories within dreams, or lost memories from other lives, she told herself.

But she could not deny that her body seemed to have memories, and a will, that she did not recall.

* * *

><p><strong>Author's Note:<strong>_The next chapter will be rated M._


	8. Chapter 8

The following chapter contains sexual matter. Sensitive readers can skip it and it won't affect the storyline [much;)].

* * *

><p>Aizen was absent most of the following few days, leaving Orihime alone and to her own imagination after a brief tea at breakfast or light supper in the common room between their personal rooms. They were fleeting moments, just enough time for Orihime to realize that something had indeed changed. Maybe not just with her, or at least not recently, but somewhere; either in her past or his.<p>

Perhaps theirs.

She had tried not to think about that possibility, but it stared back at her when she looked in the mirror as the changed clothes, thoughts flitting through her mind she'd never entertained before, ones including him.

She had been confined to the monstrous interior of the complex. Aizen gave both Ulquiorra and Grimmjow orders not to let her wander outside; even by accident, as sometimes happened when she investigated a door that happened to lead outside to the courtyard and not to another corridor.

Orihime wasn't sure why, but she had heard that a surge of Hollows had found the complex of Las Noches and decided to investigate it. She hadn't seen any of them, but there were howls and cries from outside the mural side of her room at times, sometimes awakening her from her sleep. Once she had timidly peeked into the common room during a session of howling. It was empty, and soon afterward the noises from the courtyard had stopped. No one had offered her any explanation.

It was unsettling, those wilds calls from the exterior of the fortress she had gradually accepted as her new residence, but it wasn't why she had agreed – at Aizen's invitation – to pass the afternoon in his rooms.

Orihime sat at the table, comfortable in the lavender-trimmed cream kimono with the orchid embroidery, leaning over the paper before her. She had made little effort at drawing another hummingbird, as Aizen had promised to take her to the lab to show his researchers what a proper bird should look like, but she _was_ sketching.

She smiled, something that was becoming more frequent as she set the ink to the sheet of paper. "A garden," she murmured aloud, although she was alone. "With flowers, and vegetables, and even ornamental trees."

It was a new thought to her and one she was beginning to welcome. At least, if the laboratory staff was busy making birds and plant-life, they wouldn't be creating new ways to harass and endanger her friends in the Living World.

"Perhaps he's not like that anymore," she consoled herself hopefully, the pen drawing down the paper. She hoped not. She preferred to think Aizen had grown bored with her friends.

She sketched the layout of the courtyard, a few hazy lines that focused mainly on the area Aizen had said could be designated for beautification. She giggled at the thought. Hearing him say the word seemed so unlike what she knew of him, yet somehow natural.

Actually, she knew Sousuke Aizen enjoyed beautiful things, even creating beauty. That was obvious. It was also obvious to her that he missed those opportunities he had enjoyed as a shinigami.

He still was a shinigami, she thought. "At heart," she told herself. The Hyogoku had changed him, yes, but not entirely. Not as much as events had changed Ichigo, she reminded herself.

Her thoughts halted, as did her pen.

On the paper a thicker line was etched. She frowned at it and rubbed a finger over it, as if to lessen the dark line. Ichigo had changed the most since the War. She wasn't quite sure what he had become, not entirely.

War changed everyone, she knew. She was no fighter, but Orihime did know that much about it. She leaned over the table again, a smile coming to her lips. It was a comfortable room, the low lights and quietness, the smell of water from the back facilities. She had taken a short peek there earlier – actually, as she had taken a few steps into the back room past the rice paper divider that hid Aizen's bed.

A blush flooded her cheeks as she thought of those words.

She hadn't meant to be nosey – she was just curious, yes, that was it – to see if his rooms were arranged like hers were. They were, mostly, and that was as far as she'd gotten. Of course, she had paused, standing at the divider, looking at the bed. It was a casual bed, not as fancily adorned as hers had become, comfortable in appearance, and inviting.

The last thought had sent her scuttling back to the first room.

Inviting?

But it had been.

Orihime retraced a section of lines on the paper. The muted tones of the bed must have been how Aizen had appeared to everyone at one time. Low-key, casual, unassuming, like when they'd known...

She didn't let the thought finish. She wasn't going to think about the past. At least, not one possible past.

"How are you coming along on your plans?"

Orihime startled at Aizen's voice and turned to see him as he knelt beside her. She hadn't even heard him come in the room.

"You've been here all day?" he asked, gaze on her sketch.

"Yes, Aiz—" She stopped herself, seeing faint disappointment crowd his eyes. "Sousuke."

He smiled, nodding. "I see you're working on the garden."

"Oh, yes." She turned back to the paper as he settled beside her at the table.

"Make sure you include hydrangeas. The lab is working on the necessary soil to render your favorite colors."

She smiled, not thinking too closely about his choice of words. "I like pink and purple."

"Yes," he said, and caught himself before saying more. "Yes. And wisteria."

She nodded immediately. "The blue kind?"

"If you like."

She looked to him, smiling more as his hand rested at her shoulder, a light touch that made a ripple flit through her stomach. "I do. The redder ones look sour."

"They probably are." He stood up as a knock came to the door and went there to answer it.

Orihime watched as he returned with a tea service and placed the tray to one side of the low table.

"I'm going to change." His hand rested on her head as she looked to the tea pot and cups. "Ready our tea and we'll discus the garden."

He left into the bedchamber and Orihime set about carefully pouring them tea. Her hands didn't shake anymore, something that had been a gradual progression as Aizen's company became more pleasant. A twinge of guilt surfaced over the flit in her stomach. It wasn't fair to think that people couldn't change, or that they were the same to everyone.

She knew that. On some level, she'd known it for a long time.

She shook her head at the thoughts so that they settled into a lesser used area of her mind. She looked up as Aizen returned and sat beside her, his attention on the paper.

"What's this?" He pointed to where she'd drawn round lumps of foliage.

"Hedges, if that's okay." She watched him nod, the faint smile that turned his lips.

"And this?"

Her gaze went to the squares she'd arranged on the paper. "Potted plants."

He nodded again, reaching for a tea cup. He set it beside her and then retrieved his own. "Include a bench so you can sit among the, well, shade." He chuckled. "Exactly what any tall plants would shade out, as we have no real sun, is immaterial. For privacy."

She nodded, sipping her tea. She set the cup down, watching his eyes move over the paper. "You're nice to me." She immediately gasped at the words, wishing to call them back, even reverse them, if necessary. "Oh, I mean, you're –"

"Not how you expected?" His mild surprise at her openness held no disapproval. He shook his head, moving his tea and the paper further back on the table. He turned to face her, one hand moving to her hair, fingers brushing the auburn strands to the lavender edging of her kimono, watching her eyes follow his hand. She looked back to his face. "Is that what you meant, Orihime?"

She swallowed, nodding slightly. "I think so."

"That's understandable." His fingers went beneath her chin, tilted it so he could see the low light play gray and violet through her eyes. "For you, anything."

She didn't say what he thought she would, nor move away when he bent closer, kissing her lips in a soft moment. This time she readily kissed him back, leaning into his embrace as his arms came around her. It was a short kiss, but his lips wandered to her eyes, a warm contact that made her smile as the light touch brought the flutter back to her chest.

He leaned back a few inches, watching her eyes open. She looked to each of his eyes, feeling her pulse strong in her wrists as her arms wrapped around his neck. "I'm going to take you to bed."

The words halted Orihime's thoughts, but not in the manner she thought they should. She watched his lips move as he formed the words, feeling herself nod as he lifted her into his arms.

The tan and white dressed bed was just as comfortable as it looked when Orihime found herself sitting among the folded back sheets a moment later. She watched as Aizen removed the brown kimono he wore, the faint light revealing a shinigami intact as any man, no influence of Hollowfication, but well-muscled, a calmness to his movements that belied the quickness she knew he was capable of.

Instinctively she leaned slightly away as he sat beside her on the mattress, the sheet gripped tightly in her hands, her mind swarming with contrasting thoughts as she reassessed her earlier nod. She looked to his hands as he put one on her knot of fingers and sheet, easing it down to his thigh between them.

"I haven't... haven't...been..." The words failed Orihime, but he only shook his head.

"It doesn't matter," he said, unlocking her fingers from the sheet, keeping them in his hand, his thumb rubbing over the back of her hand.

His lips went back to hers, kissing more firmly, making her put one hand to his shoulder for support, and then moved more casually over the muscles there. The skin beneath her hand was tight, warm, strong from centuries of swordplay, but Orihime was more conscious of his lips moving across hers and his hand moving slowly over her kimono, gently beneath the weight of her breast, tenderly against the side. He kissed her chin, his lips moving to her throat, soft touches along her soft shoulders until he untied her sash and slipped the kimono from her.

The air of the darkened room was warm, muting some of the fleeting exposure Orihime felt at the kimono slowly falling from her, uncertain when, or how, he managed to pull it free from her. Before she could feel conspicuous, his arms were around her, pulling her close to his chest as her arms went around his back, sliding up, feeling the muscles there move as she felt her back meet the mattress. He kissed her lips deeply, her eyes closing as she her arms loosen enough to lower around his back, feeling his weight cover her, a sensation new to her, one that sent a shiver of anticipation through her. She moved one of legs enough to accommodate him, and after a line of intense kisses over her throat, she willingly let her leg rest over his. The foreignness of the position made her suddenly look to him, breaking his kiss that had moved to her lips. He opened his eyes.

For a few seconds she didn't think beyond the moment, not of anything but his hand smoothly rounding over her bare hip and the tremor it sent through the rest of her body.

The touch galvanized her, where she was, who he was, and he sensed it. She began to speak, but he stifled any words with a kiss, this time with more force on her mouth before his lips moved to her throat in a softer trail of kisses. Orihime's breath stilled, his mouth warm against her skin, eager yet controlled, and more gentle than she expected. Those small movements made her relax beneath him, her fingers drifting across the skin of his back. For a few leisure moments he kissed her lips, feeling her warm breath on his face, before he shifted from slow and precise touches to hungrier movements that were nearly insistent. kissing from her chin to her throat until she relaxed, able only to respond with muted moans at the new feeling, a sigh replacing her hesitations.

Orihime had been rarely kissed, a few quick, opportunistic moments from the cruder boys at school which were promptly beaten up by Tatsuki, and never so thoroughly or so expertly. Her few reservations slipped away until his hips moved over her, pressing against her abdomen, and she realized the feeling of the long hard erection resting at her inner thigh. This time her reaction was milder, feeling his arms around her stifle, tighten her against him, his lips hard on hers as his weight pushed her lower into the mattress. She complied with his knee as it nudged the back of her thigh to move her leg more to one side. She was both eager and nervous as she felt his erection push softly against her, slowly rubbing at the receptive entry inside her. Somewhere she had lost her logical train of thought, her body now reacting to his.

Her eyes closed, enjoying the iron hold of his arms around her, feeling his breath hot against her ear as his face crowded close to hers, burying in her hair. For a few moments she was lost in the enpassing embrace, eager and content. With a quick movement he pushed into her, feeling her hands curl on his back, her breath catch in a short cry. He held her closer, letting her finish the stunted gasp, turning to kiss below her ear, murmuring something she didn't deciper at the moment. She clung to him, letting the sharp pain subside into a different acclimation. Her hand slid up his back to his neck, under his hair, the soft locks in her fingers gripping slightly as he felt her heartbeat echo against his chest.

He raised back to look at her, kissing her lips that trembled faintly. And then he began moving again.

At first slowly, feeling her slightly tense, until she eased back into the relaxed expectancy from earlier. He moved slowly with increasingly deeper thrusts until her leg shifted around him, her sole crossing over his calf, sliding down it to his ankle as he kissed her. His lips were harder on hers now, as if demanding the breath from her, bringing her nearly to gasping. The room seemed suddenly warm to Orihime, hot, thick with breathing as he thrust fully into her in motions that brought her to a short panting, her arms locked around him.

Orihime didn't know how long it lasted, that rocking and beckoning push and pull, her legs wrapped around his hips as a swell began deep inside her urged her own natural responses. Her cheek rested at his shoulder as she felt the innermost parts of herself clench around him, her fingers pressed into the smooth muscles of his back, feeling the skin tauten as he moved within her. She muffled a groan against his shoulder as a release of desire rushed through her, stronger than anything she'd felt before, pulling her sensations to a climax.

He moved faster as the moan breathed from her, matching her with his own, ending in a final thrust that left them both spent. He felt her head drop back to the mattress, her eyes still closed. letting himself pant as his face buried in the damp auburn tresses at her neck, feeling her pulse beat against his chest. His arms loosened around her, her legs now limply draped over his. He kissed her ear, her cheek, her neck, moving from her wet throat to finally kiss her lips. Orihime kissed him back, drained and content, almost feeling his smile on her lips in the dark. She smiled back, exhausted.

Aizen leaned back and watched her open her eyes. She looked to his face and then felt his lips on hers again, for a moment lingering. She didn't want him to move away, could feel his hold on her loosen but not surrender her. After a moment he pulled out of her, bringing a muted moan from her lips. He sat back, freeing one arm from around her to brush a few strands of hair from her cheek. His hand moved from her face to her breast, feeling her racing heartbeat below the smooth skin. She looked up at him, trying to catch her breath.

He kissed her slowly but not for long, and then lay down beside her. The air hung heavy and warm around them and he reached over her to pull the sheet across them.

Orihime was too warm for the light material over her, but she didn't protest. Nor did she protest when Aizen pulled her closer to his side, his arm slipping under her back around her waist.

"Where you belong, Orihime," he said into her ear, his breath still hot against her skin.

She nodded, eyes closing as she turned onto her side, resting her cheek at his shoulder. She didn't respond, too exhausted, with too many thought flooding her weary mind.

Maybe he was right.


End file.
